She was Miss Manroe

Beauty pays a price
walking down the road of life.
Don’t think all the perks have no flaws
no rotten air poisoning the soul.
The leers and looks
and the hoots and toots,
these are endured with a smile.
She, who turns heads
as soon as she steps
out her door.
This young and vibrant soul
gets unravelled, all rearranged
for the show.
Always for the show.
She smiles wide her cherry lips,
flicks her curls of gold,
and walks down the road, as though floating
from a cloud.
She loves all who see her
she falls for the charm
the wide-eyed dreams of home
a place to call home.
But beauty paid a price
walking down the road of life
hand in hand with only those who stole
her self-respect, her confidence, her drive,
leaving her empty, filled with nothing but thoughts of demise.

And one fine day, they found her
all but a mannequin upon the bed
one they’d been trying to force,
cold, lifeless,
and no longer alive.
No longer the young, vibrant woman
who’d come stumbling upon a life so demanding,
so alone.
Such was the tragedy
of Marilyn Manroe.

(Don’t ask me why I felt compelled to write this today, for I do not really know all that well myself. In my defense, all I can say is that I recently -yesterday- watched a documentary on her life, a documentary based on some of Manroe’s own writings. It was a very compelling and driving tale, and I dare say, it obviously left a mental mark. I didn’t really set out to write this, but here it is, and it’d be a same to keep it hidden.)

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