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| Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 18:42:16 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 134741
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => The Actress
[time] => 2007-05-27 15:42:40
[hometext] => This poem is about a young girl who tries to hide her emotions in order to impress those around her.
[bodytext] => A trendy red dress topped off with a hat is how she enters the world. She is without the slightest apprehension as the commoners on the street Stare at her with wonderment, asking themselves If this is real, the woman who they are gazing upon? Walking through the crowded street she tilts her hat Downward, In a feeble attempt to veil her eyes. She is too proud to allow others to see her when she cries. As she puts on her dark Versaci glasses she starts to claw At her wrist beneath her Gucci blouse, Digging her acrylic nails deeper as she is Silently whispering to herself “I can’t take this.” And she pulls down her sleeve to cover her pain, Because it’s impossible for an actress to be insane. Tearing off her heels, she begins to run while Her long locks are trailing behind, as her beauty strives to keep up with her hatred And she begins to scream As she accelerates, begging for survival in a world with Expectations of Perfection, That she cannot provide, She breaks down the door so that she can hide From this realm where she is perceived as a possession And not ever accepted for her actions For it is all physical, and at that she fails. Or so she tells herself. And she is reminded everyday By the scar on her thigh Which reads, “ I want to DIE.” And this is the night where that blemish takes on a life of its own As she prepares in the desolance of her room Which is adorned in extravagence, yet she tears at the walls Hoping that it will rid her of her hateful thoughts Yet they persist. The voices become clamorous Who could ever think such a life to be glamourous. And her last thoughts embrace the worst because She knows they will be her last, and she wants to remind herself That those thoughts hold the truth. -And they are the only truths which are eminent in her existence. Her last ounce of strength is used to destroy herself once last time, As she writes out delicately in her own liquid red: “Don’t be upset, I was always this dead.” [comments] => 0 [counter] => 151 [topic] => 64 [informant] => greenlady89 [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => ambiguous )
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