Published August 19, 2008
Born a star, discovered at 15,
Well on her way by 17.
Ripped up jeans and a tie-dye shirt
Knees show bruises through the holes
Chestnut cherry hair lies messy but perfect and
Green and gold eyes have an innocent glow to them.
As she lies on the bed.
The neon hotel sign shines bright through the crack in the closed curtains
Her big moment should be right now.
Nerves race through her blood,
Wet palms and hands clenched together,
Her mouth so dry, that when she tries to scream
Not a sound is heard.
Her legs feel weak
Her stomach feels like birds swoop round and round.
Hot salty tears stream down her face
As she squeezes her eyes shut
and prays.
The airway in her throat feels like it’s closing up
Gasping for air,
As she opens her eyes
All she needs to do is sing.
She sees the man standing above her,
With his strong overpowering hands wrapped tight around her neck
He’s done.
All she should have been doing is singing.
The hot dry duck tape stings her lips
Keeping her from saying a word
The ropes around her wrists and ankles rub,
Her wet palms drenched in blood.
She’s lying there in Motel 6
Somewhere outside the city in Jersey.
With a tall large man
Who was supposed to be her friend
Who was supposed to help her make it big
Who assured her parents that she’d be safe in the city, with him by her side.
Who doesn’t care that he
Ripped up her jeans while dragging her there
And tie-dyed her shirt with her own blood.
Who looked straight into her glowing green and gold eyes
Sparkling with pain,
As he began punching her over and over again
Like she was a punching bag and he was a boxer
He leans so close to her face,
She can feel the sweat droplets drip off of him
And smell the scent of peanuts lingering in his breath.
He peels the duck tape from her lips
Kisses her cheek.
The deep red blush,
That is actually from being slapped.
The elegant dark purple eye shadow,
From being punched.
He whispers something in her ear,
But she can no longer hear him.
He strokes her chestnut cherry hair out of her face
And he leaves after he
Softly kisses her lips
The lips that would have made her dreams come true.
Born a star, discovered at 15
Born a star, tricked, raped, beaten and murdered at 17.
All she wanted to do was sing.
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140,959 Literary Works • 673,783 Reviews
this is extremley dark, i agree.
i love it though, you are so deep and mystical.
i have to say, that this probably has changed my life =]
Well, wow. At first, I didn't like this girl because she sounded so pretty and perfect. But then, how you changed it around...you described it extremely well, the way you switched the meaning of it all, was great. It's a little long, but it did hold my attention, maybe some lines are a little superfluous, so it could be made a little more succinct, but right now, I think it's great. Well done.
This is wonderful yet I have to say that It is not a lyric poem.
It is more of a narrative poem
I liked the fact that you tried something different from the romance and love poems
I did not understand your poem when I first read it because I did not follow very well.
Thanks for what I can call a Dark Poem.
Keep Writing.
I thought that it was a good poem their was a sence of mystery trying to find out what she was doing and what was happending. It was quite sad though. It got a little confusing at the point that you said it was her big moment and it seemed like she was going on stage soon but then she was laying on the bed. I don't really see the conection. But, I guess it has something to do with how she wanted to sing or perhaps it was a dream, I don't really know. Anyway, good job.
hi rach.....
it was a good poem......touches one's heart once.......
1)i think its more of a narrative type of poem.........so it should have been in the other category i feel
2)when your work is so lengthy ,there's a risk that the reader may loose interest ......so next time when you write.....try to have a bit shorter one......
i found the line " the lips that could have made her dream come true" really overwhelming........
a good composition anyways......
keep writing.......
hey thanks, yeah I've been working on figuring out where to break it up. Originally, the poem came from a project we had to do in a writing class I took. We had to try and write something that would never typically come from us. In that class, I wrote mostly "happy" poems, so this was a big change for me!
I think this is more like narrative poetry =] and you need to do 2 reviews for each thing you post. But anyway...
This is such a dark poem, and there are so many grim and sad images that it's a bit overwhelming and not really in a good way. I think it goes on long without a break, maybe you should break it up into more than one stanza.
I like how you turn the tye-dye and the ripped jeans from something sweet and attractive into something horrible. I think that moment would be a good time to break it.