Young Writers Society

personally, i like the original version of your poem better, and that version i absolutely loved. it didn't hold a very deep, sensual meaning, but for that i can't complain as the rest of the poem was utterly wonderful. um...no critiques here. [/i]

The re-edited one I like a alot better, but the first one I thought was still good. I agree with Galatea though and all her nitpicks, escpeshily the one wear she changed "Daddy's plastic" to "Mothers Money" for some reason I didn't really get "Daddy's plastic" at first, even though it is kind of obvious. But still.

Verry good poem, like always!

Was looking through my old poems and decided to re-edit this...

Mannequin

Made of white elastic and a kind of vacant dignity
a girl with long hair (whose original colour
we will never know) primps before shop windows,
checking that her painted face and cherry smile
haven’t melted in the sun. Her perfect figure acts
like a walking advertisement;
paper-cut-out jeans, red highlights and
designer underwear - and like a child, she trusts
the make-believe of her own reflection,
seeing only that she looks beautiful
so she must be all right.

She doesnt understand that plastic
will never make her real.

Wow, Incandescence actually said something moderately nice! LOL. Anyway, I've played with the ending a wee bit, its still quite a bit like the previous version though. Not sure whether its more forceful, as you all seem to think it should be. If I come up with anything better I will let you know.

The make-believe of her own reflection
Seeing ugliness in beauty
And uniqueness in conformity
A mass-produced store-front dummy
Pretending to be one of a kind.

*blink blink blink* Is it my turn to now gape in awe and bow at your feet? this was...is...wow. It deserves a word all its own, but I'm in a writing funk, so am unable to work up the creative flow to do so.

The pure...sarcasticly simple mockery of this piece just makes me want to kiss your toes. I love it when people make fun of the moronic narcisistic fools that populate this dust ball.

i really like this...i'm guessing the mannquins are meant to portray the abecrombie wearing sheepy highschoolers we so love to hate? even if it wasn't your itnention, it fits. the ending of your poem was strong and i have a thing about endings. it you dont have a good one your poem just whimpers and dies instead of going out with a bang. anyway, good job.

It's a very wierd topic, department store mannequins, but you made it work with out being overly wierd. You have some great points in here, about the teenager and the design stuff. Awesome poem!

Well, Bubble, you've now become my favorite writer on here. This poem is not as powerful as it led me to believe. I think the ending should be tinkered with a little to give a more devastating blow to your readers. I got lost in the middle of this poem, because I remember feeling exactly the same way about some people I knew--a long time ago. I think you can claim it is either a person or a dummy, although, personally, I like person. Somehow this poem conveyed a soft yet determined analyzation of the people I meet all the time. Fake and plastic, whose smiles are painted onto their faces. I really liked this poem, and I think if you can play with the ending to make it even a half a joule more forceful, this poem will be five stars.

Thanks Galatea - I've made some alterations as per your suggestion and I think I like it much better now 'daddy's plastic' is definitely stronger and I reckon it needed to be a bit more forceful there, so thanks again lol.
Cheers
~bubble

Brilliant.

Nitpicks:

Made of plastic and a kind of
Vacant dignity
A girl with long hair (whose
Original colour she will never know)...('we will never know'? she knows what it was, but changed it)
Primps before shop windows,
Checking that her spray-painted face...(spay is a little out of place here. i think it would improve the flow to take it out)
And cherry smile
Haven’t melted in the sun, while
Her perfect figure acts
Like a walking advertisement
For paper-cut-out jeans, red highlights and
Designer underwear
(An outfit suggested by a back-room flunkey
Designed by a fashion victim with an empty smile
And sold to some poor teenager
With a woman’s walk and a fistful
Of her mother’s money)....(a pocket full of daddy's plastic...or something...I'd like to see a stronger choice here)
And like a child she trusts
The make-believe of her own reflection
Seeing ugliness in beauty
And uniqueness in conformity....(these two lines threaten to be cliche. Careful!)
A mass-produced store-front dummy
Pretending to be one of a kind.

Thanks convintojm, I'm glad you liked it. I never really noticed at the time that I said 'mothers money' - it just seemed natural. But now that I reread it it kind of was an interesting choice, I mean, why NOT her father's money? I guess I was trying to stay with the image that she was grown up but not self-supporting, or that she was pretending to be her mother kind of, you know? Hard to explain properly. She has a 'womans walk' but she cant really look after herself. I guess because I was talking about a girl I used the female parent. Interesting. I'm glad you brought my attention to it because I find it an odd choice too hehe. As for who is the mannequin, I think it should remain obscure too, but that doesnt stop me from wanting to know what I was talking about LOL. Maybe I was talking about both, but I suppose we'll never know...

i liked it. for some reason it struck me that you used her mother's money instead of a father not that i don't like it it just struck me as an interesting choice. i like how at the end of the poem it's really not clear if you're talkign about a person or not cause it leaves it up to the reader to choose so i woudln't worry about defining it i think it's better to be left wondering.

Thanks Firestarter, I particularly enjoyed this poem coz the topic was kind of unusual for me . Glad you enjoyed it.

Pleh. Beautiful as always, bubble. Nice topic.

Favourite bits:

Primps before shop windows,
Checking that her spray-painted face
And cherry smile
Haven’t melted in the sun, while
Her perfect figure acts
Like a walking advertisement

(An outfit suggested by a back-room flunkey
Designed by a fashion victim with an empty smile
And sold to some poor teenager
With a woman’s walk and a fistful
Of her mother’s money)

A mass-produced store-front dummy
Pretending to be one of a kind.

Made of plastic and a kind of
Vacant dignity

Designed by a fashion victim with an empty smile
And sold to some poor teenager
With a woman’s walk and a fistful
Of her mother’s money)

Seeing ugliness in beauty
And uniqueness in conformity