Notes: The assignment was to assume the persona of someone entirely different from you, and use imagery to create an image of their life. :] This is a poem about a struggling model.
My momma always told me that
My heart’s gonna lead me to fresh flowery fields, where I’ll find
Desires like sweet olives, a powerful tang in my nostrils,
Dreams like pomegranate bursts across my tongue.
But she balked when I told her I wanted to model.
Look at you, she said, sorrow brimmin’ her eyelids.
I don’t got the face for polyester plastic beauty, she said.
Oh, but I ain’t never listened to Momma anyway- she’s crazy.
Like bein’ pretty’s the sunlight catchin’ your hair
Or your eyes sparklin’ in the wind or some shit.
The sun’s only gonna catch somethin’ wrong with you,
And that’s what you’ve gotta hide, if you wanna be
I haven’t catwalked, not since I first left home.
Keep to my grimy flat, the hell I reside in
With its nonstop parties, like pallid heartbeats.
I once dreamed about a pretty little house
With a pretty little picket fence and pretty little children
Playing in the front yard, and I stood by my
Pretty little husband who smiled and kissed me
And told me he loved me.
I woke up that morning, and ragged sobs choked my throat, because
Suburbia ain’t never existed.
I smear creams in sparkling hues across my eyelids,
Liquids dry, cracked, stretch my face, hiding
My polyester plastic beauty hides the dark moons under my eyes,
I’ve gotta be thinner.
Nourishment seeps from my bones
Until they are brittle, cracking, like weakened twigs on a sickened tree.
Of course, nature ain’t sick until you do somethin’ wrong to it.
But I don’t dare go home.
I don’t want to admit that Momma was right.