Poetry for a Screenplay
by Sophia Harvey
Instead of regaling you all (are there any of you left?) with words of why I’ve been away and apologies for internet-neglect, I’m just going to jump back into this lovely blog world. I’ve been writing away, in between lots and lots of sound design (most notably for the fabulous short film The Perfect Man), and these are just a few poems that I wrote for my current feature screenplay project.
They are meant to be spoken word and will ideally exist in that way someday, but for now they are on paper, and now, they are here.
The character who “writes” these poems is a 24 year old living in Brooklyn, with an overly romanticized view of her own hedonism. She believes that you must be tortured to be an artist. Enjoy.
If she could consider, she would
but when she stumbles she falls
and lips don’t part when they should.
She’ll quiver for you but not for herself
but that quiver’s a shiver for someone else.
She trusts no one but you, whoever you are tonight.
Take shelter in her heart, whoever you are tonight.
Reckless and feckless with bruised lips she trips
into a joy of her own.
But it’s a fleeting fog that rolls to the beat
of your morning exit.
And caves that drip Rock n Roll and leather scented illusions
harbor the merchants of her sanctioned delusions
and beckon to you, whoever you are tonight.
Your ink bleeds and your hard sleeves show soft skin below.
But she don’t play with lambs or tears, no, she don’t want to know.
So get your guns and leave your keys, whoever you are tonight.
I see your swag, yeah, you wear it good
and I see those chicks you’re foolin’
and people been sayin you got a real mean streak
but you’re just my little boy flexin.
Behind those snears I see tears that are forgotten
and your palms hold love and pain but ain’t that the game
yeah, you’re just my little boy flexin’.
Ain’t nobody knows your glint is passion
and those shades hide more than scars skin deep
and ain’t nobody knows the fashion in which you hold me when we sleep.
We got the concerned and caring staring with hollow knowledge.
You can take your savior obsessions
and rearrange your own strange lives.
I ain’t got no question
and it’s my only confession
that he’s just my little boy flexin.