mild celebrity

[ScurryFunger]

2nd

She thought she was the epitome of cosmopolitan...

She painted her nails red
while listening to the gay disco hits,
a Martini glass on a coaster made of cork.
When young she had become
the trophy wife of a shallow man.
Plucked and tweezed and oiled and waxed
to a cocoa-butter tanned perfection.

Gradually the taint appeared.
Poison was injected,
with a blank-faced, smooth-lined stare
her ritual maintenance intensified
but still she was discarded,
shrugged off like an outgrown skin.
She twittered, birdlike for a while,
it never really did sink in.

Sanity slowly slipped from her mind's grasp,
she had a tattoo, delighted in the small pleasure
of the pain. A copied version of an un-glossy picture
in a magazine filled to the brim with d-list personalities.
Like a religion she studied the form
of her erstwhile contemporaries,
inwardly seething at those who
she deemed to still 'have it all.'

She lurched, in an ever downward spiral
from successful man to moderate man to loser.
Her scars had faded years ago,
although the mascara build-up on her lashes
could have filled a bucket full of lost dreams.
She kept her fingernails red.
She still bought the magazines.
She twitched and floundered like
a several minutes out of water fish.

Slowly she realised and accepted
that she was only a has-been nonentity,
avoiding her reflected image,
she put on her paste jewellery
representative of her faked life.
She bought a bottle of vodka a day
and gave in.



-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

1st edit

She thought she was the epitome of cosmopolitan...

She painted her nails red
while listening to the gay disco hits,
a martini glass on a coaster made of cork.

Plucked and tweezed and oiled and waxed
to a cocoa-butter tanned perfection.

A man in her distant past had purchased her,
had stayed away while the bandages were present
then later tucked her arm through his to show
his ownership.
He wanted to inspire jealousy and awe,
but all he received were telling looks
and an underlying sympathy for her.

Inevitably she was discarded roughly and without mercy,
shrugged off like an outgrown skin.
She twittered, birdlike for a while,
it never really did sink in.

She continued with her ritual maintenance
so practised she was, at worshipping herself
with a blank-faced, smooth-lined stare.

Sanity slowly slipped from her mind's grasp,
she had a tattoo, delighted in the small pleasure
of the pain. A copied version of a un-glossy picture
in a magazine filled to the brim with d-list personalities.

She longed for a d-list life.
Like a religion she studied the form of her contemporaries
inwardly seething at those who she deemed to 'have it all.'

She lurched, in an ever downward spiral
from successful man to moderate man to loser.

Her scars had faded years ago,
although the mascara build-up on her lashes
could have filled a bucket full of lost dreams.

She kept her fingernails red.
She still bought the magazines.

She twitched and floundered like
a several minutes out of water fish.

Then, one day, she realised and accepted
what it was that she was meant to be,
she put on her fake jewellery,
knowing that it was representative of her fake life.

She bought a bottle of vodka a day and gave in.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Original

She thought she was the epitome of cosmopolitan...

She painted her nails red
while listening to the gay disco hits,
a martini glass on a coaster made of cork.

Plucked and tweezed and oiled and waxed
to a cocoa-butter tanned perfection.

A distant in the past man had purchased her,
had stayed away while the bandages were present
then later tucked her arm through his to show
that he owned this beautiful creature.
He wanted to inspire jealousy and awe,
but all he received were telling looks
and an underlying sympathy for her.

So, she was discarded roughly and without mercy,
shrugged off like an outgrown skin.
She twittered, birdlike for a while,
it never really did sink in.

She continued with her ritual maintenance
so practised she was, at worshipping herself
with a blank-faced, smooth-lined stare.

Sanity slowly slipped from her minds grasp,
she had a tattoo, delighted in the small pleasure
of the pain. A copied version of a un-glossy picture
in a magazine filled to the brim with d-list personalities.

She longed for a d-list life.
Like a religion she studied the form of her contemporaries
inwardly seething at those who she deemed to 'have it all.'

Her scars had faded years ago,
although the mascara build-up on her lashes
could have filled a bucket full of lost dreams.
She lurched, in an ever downward spiral
from successful man to moderate man to loser.

She kept her fingernails red.
She still bought the magazines.

She twitched and floundered like
a several minutes out of water fish.
Then, one day, she realised and accepted
what it was that she was meant to be,
she put on her fake jewellery,
knowing of the fact that it was representative of her fake life.

She bought a bottle of vodka a day and gave in.

[Bunx]

She thought she was the epitome of cosmopolitan...

She painted her nails red
while listening to the gay disco hits,
a martini glass on a coaster made of cork. sets the subject of the poem, like the fine detail of the environment

Plucked and tweezed and oiled and waxed
to a cocoa-butter tanned perfection.good exposure to the "pain of beauty?" perhaps the contradiction that is there no beauty without pain. anyways, great foreshawdowing

A distant in the past man had purchased her,
had stayed away while the bandages were present
then later tucked her arm through his to show
that he owned this beautiful creature.are you trying to give the perspective of the man on the subject.
He wanted to inspire jealousy and awe,
but all he received were telling looks
and an underlying sympathy for her.Makes the male seem more human, good detail

So, she was discarded roughly and without mercy,
shrugged off like an outgrown skin.
She twittered, birdlike for a while,
it never really did sink in.

She continued with her ritual maintenance
so practised she was, at worshipping herself
with a blank-faced, smooth-lined stare.this ladies seems scary

Sanity slowly slipped from her minds grasp,
she had a tattoo, delighted in the small pleasure
of the pain. A copied version of a un-glossy picture
in a magazine filled to the brim with d-list personalities.

She longed for a d-list life.
Like a religion she studied the form of her contemporaries
inwardly seething at those who she deemed to 'have it all.'

Her scars had faded years ago,
although the mascara build-up on her lashes
could have filled a bucket full of lost dreams.great balance of ideas, scars and make up
She lurched, in an ever downward spiral
from successful man to moderate man to loser.

She kept her fingernails red.
She still bought the magazines.

She twitched and floundered like
a several minutes out of water fish.
Then, one day, she realised and accepted
what it was that she was meant to be,
she put on her fake jewellery,
knowing of the fact that it was representative of her fake life.

She bought a bottle of vodka a day and gave in.my life story

I think this reads alot like free verse poetry. I like it because you give a full picture of the subject. As far as the theme of this poem I came up with the nature of attraction or seduction? I am not sure though. Loved the poem anyways! thanks for the read. it was almost like a well described short story

---

i think the nature of pain and pleasure perhaps?

[heslopian]

She thought she was the epitome of cosmopolitan...

She painted her nails red
while listening to the gay disco hits,
a martini glass on a coaster made of cork. Is "made of cork" necessary?

Plucked and tweezed and oiled and waxed
to a cocoa-butter tanned perfection.

A distant in the past man had purchased her, I'm struggling to make sense of this line. Would it read easier like this: "a man from her distant past had purchased her".
had stayed away while the bandages were present
then later tucked her arm through his to show
that he owned this beautiful creature.
He wanted to inspire jealousy and awe,
but all he received were telling looks
and an underlying sympathy for her.

So, she was discarded roughly and without mercy,
shrugged off like an outgrown skin.
She twittered, birdlike for a while, Good line.
it never really did sink in. Elegant rhyme of "skin" and "in".

She continued with her ritual maintenance
so practised she was, at worshipping herself
with a blank-faced, smooth-lined stare. Very cutting line. It conveys such shallow vanity.

Sanity slowly slipped from her minds grasp, "Minds" needs an apostrophe, as it's being used in a possessive context.
she had a tattoo, delighted in the small pleasure
of the pain. A copied version of a un-glossy picture
in a magazine filled to the brim with d-list personalities.

She longed for a d-list life.
Like a religion she studied the form of her contemporaries Very good line. I like the idea you convey that your character seeks meaning in the meaningless.
inwardly seething at those who she deemed to 'have it all.'

Her scars had faded years ago,
although the mascara build-up on her lashes
could have filled a bucket full of lost dreams.
She lurched, in an ever downward spiral
from successful man to moderate man to loser.

She kept her fingernails red.
She still bought the magazines.

She twitched and floundered like
a several minutes out of water fish. Good simile.
Then, one day, she realised and accepted
what it was that she was meant to be,
she put on her fake jewellery,
knowing of Is "of the fact" needed? the fact that it was representative of her fake life.

She bought a bottle of vodka a day and gave in. For a moment I was worried that this cynical story would have a contrived happy ending. You didn't disappoint

Some very good lines here. I'd recommend more of a narrative focus and perhaps a shorter length. JMHO. Thank you for the read

[ScurryFunger]

I think this reads alot like free verse poetry. I like it because you give a full picture of the subject. As far as the theme of this poem I came up with the nature of attraction or seduction? I am not sure though. Loved the poem anyways! thanks for the read. it was almost like a well described short story

i think the nature of pain and pleasure perhaps?


Thanks for your lovely comments, I guess if it hasn't got any structure it's free verse? Lol, I dunno.

My 'inspiration' for this came because I used to read a lot of those crappy celebrity magazines on my breaks at work (until I made a rule that you have to pay for them if you want to read them). There were a lot of 'famous for being famous/still trying hard' women leaping out at me and so I got all poetic about some poor thang that only valued herself from the point of view of others and it sort of grew from there into a whole attempted back story.

I'll take attraction and seduction and pain and pleasure though. (ha ha)

Thanks again for taking the time.

-Deb

---

She thought she was the epitome of cosmopolitan...

She painted her nails red
while listening to the gay disco hits,
a martini glass on a coaster made of cork. Is "made of cork" necessary?

Plucked and tweezed and oiled and waxed
to a cocoa-butter tanned perfection.

A distant in the past man had purchased her, I'm struggling to make sense of this line. Would it read easier like this: "a man from her distant past had purchased her".
had stayed away while the bandages were present
then later tucked her arm through his to show
that he owned this beautiful creature.
He wanted to inspire jealousy and awe,
but all he received were telling looks
and an underlying sympathy for her.

So, she was discarded roughly and without mercy,
shrugged off like an outgrown skin.
She twittered, birdlike for a while, Good line.
it never really did sink in. Elegant rhyme of "skin" and "in".

She continued with her ritual maintenance
so practised she was, at worshipping herself
with a blank-faced, smooth-lined stare. Very cutting line. It conveys such shallow vanity.

Sanity slowly slipped from her minds grasp, "Minds" needs an apostrophe, as it's being used in a possessive context.
she had a tattoo, delighted in the small pleasure
of the pain. A copied version of a un-glossy picture
in a magazine filled to the brim with d-list personalities.

She longed for a d-list life.
Like a religion she studied the form of her contemporaries Very good line. I like the idea you convey that your character seeks meaning in the meaningless.
inwardly seething at those who she deemed to 'have it all.'

Her scars had faded years ago,
although the mascara build-up on her lashes
could have filled a bucket full of lost dreams.
She lurched, in an ever downward spiral
from successful man to moderate man to loser.

She kept her fingernails red.
She still bought the magazines.

She twitched and floundered like
a several minutes out of water fish. Good simile.
Then, one day, she realised and accepted
what it was that she was meant to be,
she put on her fake jewellery,
knowing of Is "of the fact" needed? the fact that it was representative of her fake life.

She bought a bottle of vodka a day and gave in. For a moment I was worried that this cynical story would have a contrived happy ending. You didn't disappoint

Some very good lines here. I'd recommend more of a narrative focus and perhaps a shorter length. JMHO. Thank you for the read

Thanks for all the pointers, I've tried to incorporate them into the edit, although I did keep the cork for reasons of 'scene setting that were in my head' (that makes no sense probably), anyway...

After fiddling about with it a bit, I do agree with the narrative focus thing, no idea how to go about it though. ;o(

Appreciate you taking the time.

-Deb

[Keith]

1st edit

She thought she was the epitome of cosmopolitan...

She painted her nails red
while listening to the gay disco hits,
a martini glass on a coaster made of cork. I like the cheap images

Plucked and tweezed and oiled and waxed is there such a word as tweezed? who cares I like it
to a cocoa-butter tanned perfection. again solid images

A man in her distant past had purchased her,
had stayed away while the bandages were present
then later tucked her arm through his to show
his ownership.
He wanted to inspire jealousy and awe,
but all he received were telling looks
and an underlying sympathy for her. this feels very prose

Inevitably she was discarded roughly and without mercy,
shrugged off like an outgrown skin.
She twittered, birdlike for a while,
it never really did sink in.

She continued with her ritual maintenance
so practised she was, at worshipping herself you don't need so, she or was.
with a blank-faced, smooth-lined stare. you don't need with
Sanity slowly slipped from her mind's grasp,
she had a tattoo, delighted in the small pleasure
of the pain. A copied version of a un-glossy picture
in a magazine filled to the brim with d-list personalities.

She longed for a d-list life.
Like a religion she studied the form of her contemporaries
inwardly seething at those who she deemed to 'have it all.'

She lurched, in an ever downward spiral
from successful man to moderate man to loser.

Her scars had faded years ago,
although the mascara build-up on her lashes
could have filled a bucket full of lost dreams. Great lines here

She kept her fingernails red.
She still bought the magazines.

She twitched and floundered like
a several minutes out of water fish.

Then, one day, she realised and accepted
what it was that she was meant to be,
she put on her fake jewellery,
knowing that it was representative of her fake life.

She bought a bottle of vodka a day and gave in. solid ending to the story

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Original

She thought she was the epitome of cosmopolitan...

She painted her nails red
while listening to the gay disco hits,
a martini glass on a coaster made of cork.

Plucked and tweezed and oiled and waxed
to a cocoa-butter tanned perfection.

A distant in the past man had purchased her,
had stayed away while the bandages were present
then later tucked her arm through his to show
that he owned this beautiful creature.
He wanted to inspire jealousy and awe,
but all he received were telling looks
and an underlying sympathy for her.

So, she was discarded roughly and without mercy,
shrugged off like an outgrown skin.
She twittered, birdlike for a while,
it never really did sink in.

She continued with her ritual maintenance
so practised she was, at worshipping herself
with a blank-faced, smooth-lined stare.

Sanity slowly slipped from her minds grasp,
she had a tattoo, delighted in the small pleasure
of the pain. A copied version of a un-glossy picture
in a magazine filled to the brim with d-list personalities.

She longed for a d-list life.
Like a religion she studied the form of her contemporaries
inwardly seething at those who she deemed to 'have it all.'

Her scars had faded years ago,
although the mascara build-up on her lashes
could have filled a bucket full of lost dreams.
She lurched, in an ever downward spiral
from successful man to moderate man to loser.

She kept her fingernails red.
She still bought the magazines.

She twitched and floundered like
a several minutes out of water fish.
Then, one day, she realised and accepted
what it was that she was meant to be,
she put on her fake jewellery,
knowing of the fact that it was representative of her fake life.

She bought a bottle of vodka a day and gave in.

I like the edit but you need to go further and cut down the lines to really bring out what you want to say in as few words as possible. At the moment you have a great topic, some very visual lines but you are telling a story as if it were prose.

For example
Then, one day, she realised and accepted
what it was that she was meant to be,
she put on her fake jewellery,
knowing that it was representative of her fake life.

Could be something like

Realisation accepted the fake,
life as paste as the jewellery
she no longer mistakes as real.

I hope this helps and explains what I mean when I say you need to cut it down and bring out the real points. Best TOMH

[ScurryFunger]

Thanks, I'll give it a go when I'm not so tired.

Deb

[billy]

hi debs, sorry for getting to this one late.

you have lots of good stuff in thee poem, it's like essex girl meet betty grable. it shows how people often try and remodel (sometimes literally) themselves for fame etc which also makes the piece quiet sad. one of the main problems i saw was the narration felt a bit weak, mainly because of the lack of images. if you can sort some decent images into the poem in an edit it will go a long way to elevating the poem.

thanks for the read.

1st edit

She thought she was the epitome of cosmopolitan...

She painted her nails red red makes it cliche lime green makes it less of a cliche or some other unusual colour
while listening to the gay disco hits, this and the other 2 lines set the scene well
a martini glass on a coaster made of cork. [Martini]

Plucked and tweezed and oiled and waxed i normally hate so many [and's] but they work here at showing how much work the process took.
to a cocoa-butter tanned perfection.

A man in her distant past had purchased her, so now he uses her plastic
had stayed away while the bandages were present what a bastard he was,
then later tucked her arm through his to show a suggestion would be to move [to show] down a line so it reads as [to show ownership]
his ownership.
He wanted to inspire jealousy and awe,
but all he received were telling looks
and an underlying sympathy for her. these last three lines feel like they need an image or two instead of the telling

Inevitably she was discarded roughly and without mercy, is there any other way to get discarded? a suggestion would be [she was discarded like a candy wrapper] or [sweet wrapper] if you're from the uk.
shrugged off like an outgrown skin.
She twittered, birdlike for a while,
it never really did sink in.

She continued with her ritual maintenance
so practised she was, at worshipping herself
with a blank-faced, smooth-lined stare.

Sanity slowly slipped from her mind's grasp,
she had a tattoo, delighted in the small pleasure
of the pain. A copied version of a un-glossy picture
in a magazine filled to the brim with d-list personalities.

She longed for a d-list life.
Like a religion she studied the form of her contemporaries
inwardly seething at those who she deemed to 'have it all.'

She lurched, in an ever downward spiral
from successful man to moderate man to loser.

Her scars had faded years ago,
although the mascara build-up on her lashes
could have filled a bucket full of lost dreams.

She kept her fingernails red.
She still bought the magazines.

She twitched and floundered like
a several minutes out of water fish.

Then, one day, she realised and accepted
what it was that she was meant to be,
she put on her fake jewellery,
knowing that it was representative of her fake life.

She bought a bottle of vodka a day and gave in.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Original

She thought she was the epitome of cosmopolitan...

She painted her nails red
while listening to the gay disco hits,
a martini glass on a coaster made of cork.

Plucked and tweezed and oiled and waxed
to a cocoa-butter tanned perfection.

A distant in the past man had purchased her,
had stayed away while the bandages were present
then later tucked her arm through his to show
that he owned this beautiful creature.
He wanted to inspire jealousy and awe,
but all he received were telling looks
and an underlying sympathy for her.

So, she was discarded roughly and without mercy,
shrugged off like an outgrown skin.
She twittered, birdlike for a while,
it never really did sink in.

She continued with her ritual maintenance
so practised she was, at worshipping herself
with a blank-faced, smooth-lined stare.

Sanity slowly slipped from her minds grasp,
she had a tattoo, delighted in the small pleasure
of the pain. A copied version of a un-glossy picture
in a magazine filled to the brim with d-list personalities.

She longed for a d-list life.
Like a religion she studied the form of her contemporaries
inwardly seething at those who she deemed to 'have it all.'

Her scars had faded years ago,
although the mascara build-up on her lashes
could have filled a bucket full of lost dreams.
She lurched, in an ever downward spiral
from successful man to moderate man to loser.

She kept her fingernails red.
She still bought the magazines.

She twitched and floundered like
a several minutes out of water fish.
Then, one day, she realised and accepted
what it was that she was meant to be,
she put on her fake jewellery,
knowing of the fact that it was representative of her fake life.

She bought a bottle of vodka a day and gave in.

[newsclippings]

1st edit

She thought she was the epitome of cosmopolitan...

She painted her nails red
while listening to the gay disco hits,
a martini glass on a coaster made of cork.

Plucked and tweezed and oiled and waxed
to a cocoa-butter tanned perfection.

A man in her distant past had purchased her,
had stayed away while the bandages were present this line gives me trouble because the first isn't all that descriptive and it succeeds the last stanza as though it needs a pause when it doesn't.
then later tucked her arm through his to show
his ownership.
He wanted to inspire jealousy and awe,
but all he received were telling looks
and an underlying sympathy for her. Too much. Would you mind rephrasing?

Inevitably she was discarded roughly and without mercy,I would revise this. Roughly... eh.
shrugged off like an outgrown skin.
She twittered, birdlike for a while,
it never really did sink in.

She continued with her ritual maintenance eh.
so practised she was, at worshipping herself
with a blank-faced, smooth-lined stare.this is a great line

Sanity slowly slipped from her mind's grasp,
she had a tattoo, delighted in the small pleasure
of the pain. A copied version of a un-glossy picture an?
in a magazine filled to the brim with d-list personalities.

She longed for a d-list life.the?
Like a religion she studied the form of her contemporaries
inwardly seething at those who she deemed to 'have it all.'

She lurched, in an ever downward spiral
from successful man to moderate man to loser.

Her scars had faded years ago,
although the mascara build-up on her lashes
could have filled a bucket full of lost dreams.

She kept her fingernails red.
She still bought the magazines.

She twitched and floundered like
a several minutes out of water fish.

Then, one day, she realised and accepted
what it was that she was meant to be,
she put on her fake jewellery,
knowing that it was representative of her fake life.

She bought a bottle of vodka a day and gave in.

I think a lot of these stanzas need revisiting and rewording. The theme is new though. Kind of interesting, but I think you get lost in the story and leave us with little to ponder about.

[ScurryFunger]

Thanks for the comments and taking the time newsclippings, I've given it another go and tried to 'poem' it up a bit and corrected the mistakes in spellink and grandma and stuff. (we could be here a while).

Billy, the nails are red being a cliché thing, well, yeah, that was the point, lol.

Deb

[newsclippings]

Grandma. Heh. Heheh.