you were so beautiful, and miserable. powerful, and vulnerable. remarkable, incredible. you will be remembered for ages as the gorgeous blonde with stars in her eyes, a voice so soft and sweet when she verbalized, the woman who seemed to ooze with confidence and beauty, with everything she would do or say, the woman that everyone wanted to be in the 60s, and still do to this very day.
you wrote beautiful poetry, you were so much more than what the eye could see or the dumb blondes you played in movies, or on tv, or the minds of small minded people. you're a timeless beauty, you're an inspiration to me.
without a doubt, you were beautiful,and remarkable inside and out.
she said she’d wait forever so she took the pills and chased them down with fine wine, picked up the phone and waited till the end for you to pick up the line.
was it selfish? was it romantic? was it kind?
she was a ******* come to life, she would have been such a prize. a hand on the curve of her hip- you couldn’t handle it.
there were grainy photos of you both, some fancy motel maybe by the name of the shangri-la.
there are moments you can see just how deep her sadness stretched inside of her, just how deep her need stretched inside of her, for you.
there are state of the unions adresses and inaugural china. long lasting feasts. she might as well have just been the lady hiding in the cake, the lady singing you to sleep. everybody’s ******* could’ve been a reality for you.
she said she’d wait forever and you probably passed it off as histrionics. and maybe you couldn’t live with that sort of guilt.
she said she’d wait forever so she did. she picked up the phone, pills and fine wine. waited for you in this world and ready to wait until the end of time.
Ms. Monroe - I had painted her on my wall In that room In that time That was once mine Like herself And is now gone.. She is still there though Beneath the layers, Maybe.
Painted over Blind to the common eye But if you look closely Her traces linger He outlines distinct And her curls ever-flowing Even the mole Still there Under layers Of paint And various other things Becoming a layer, Maybe But she's still there
Etched once upon a time, Now fogged by their layers But I still see her More fortunately, Still feel her There On that wall In the minds Where she shall always be..
I had painted a mural of Marylin Monroe on my wall in MICA during my final year there. It became a symbol of the room and largely of my presence in the place. Her flowing curls and her neat features caught everyon's eye. After I left, as is customary, the administration painted over the walls to prim the rooms up for the new students to come.
However.. I can still close my eyes and see her beaming down on me.. I still feel, she's still there..