Miss Sparkle

Wind chapping the face, can't quite seem to keep the hair from blowing blocking her vision.
A traffic-filled scene of taxis, cars, students, and business-men hurriedly escaping as they participate in the routine of life. Horns honking, bus shuffling women and children from here to there, homeless man making his way to his evenings resting place.She walks amid the noise of life reminiscent of a song from the 1976 movie Sparkle..."Giving Up".
Smoked filled club, a few familiar faces, used-to-be's and wanna-be's comprise the almost invisible audience. Sis belts a heart wrenching solo about missing and longing for her man.Finally realizing and knowing the end was near so near. She stretches her now coked and liquored voice. Pulling from her tiny loin to pour everything she had left-which wasn't much-into this song. Sick, pained, and defeated by having to give up, release, let go of her destroyer, her private hurt, and public pain, the only thing she had left to call her own, aka HER MAN.
The knight in shining armor, the king, the boss that beat and kicked her,sportingly boxed her gorgeous face without mercy, spit on her, isolated her from all that truly loved her, and ultimately made her feel less than a nasty stepped on piece of gum stuck on the bottom of your shoe.
Yet locked in her heart and perhaps a corner of her mind were vivid colorful memories of feeling like the luckiest chick alive. An urban queen. Fine hour-glassed shaped body, innocent supermodel face, soft silky hair down to the dimples in her back, dressed in strictly off the runway or couture definitely no department store trimmings for her,  luxury car and pad-the absolute envy of all, provided with ease from HER MAN.
Sis' reality was also Sis' fantasy.No one, and I mean no one, envied her. Instead they pitied her. They saw her present state and they too vividly and colorfully remembered her original untampered beauty, grace, laughter, happiness.No cocaine laced joints, no lines, eight balls, no light/dark expensive/cheap liquor covered breath.Just a young sassy wide-eyed girl looking to find her way in the world.
An urban queen. Shaking their heads in defeat to her ignorant one woman show of  REBELLION-
SELF DESTRUCTION-and LOSS OF SELF.
Yes oh yes my spirit sings, moans, silently cries- one tear falls to the cheek..."giving up is so hard to do..." but I must because the fog and clouds are blocking my sun rays.Starving my nourishment.
Pick-pocketing my joy, peace, and goals. You say you want to build me up, yet the blueprint does not match the desired goal. I don't have to participate. I can simply stop. Walk-away no look backs.
No hellos.Knowing all too well how this type of story goes...