Being Marilyn Monroe: A Look Into the Soul of an Icon
Marilyn Was a Vision of Timeless Beauty and Strength Unnoticed
Right now, I am revising this hub because of low traffic coming to it. I want people to read it, so I must keep it visible to the public eye.
I can remember when I started writing this poem, my thought process was sadness. I was going through some heartbreak, and feeling down about a lot of things. I felt uneasy about how I was viewed through the eyes of gentlemen. I have no luck at all when it comes to loving. I find it easy to obtain, but it fades away fast. I am a vivacious woman at the time of a love that's new, and I think I continue to be that throughout. Even so, I am human, and to keep up with sensual behavior all the time while cooking, cleaning, and presently taking care of my children; I find it difficult to be on point with my inner sexy all the time. Now, I think the men are silly when they expect that from me, and wonder why they can't just love me for the simple part of my personality as well. Isn't it love if you do that? Is it not love if you don't?
As I started writing my poem - which was suppose to be about myself - it struck me that it mirrored another. She was a beautiful vixen we all admire today. Marilyn Monroe, was brought up like any other girl, but in an orphanage most of her life. She had dreams, and she became who she was by natural instinct. She conquered her dream in a sense, but I believe she wished she would have been able to conquer success and love not only by her magnetism of beauty, but by her vulnerability as a regular woman. In the midst of writing I realized I wanted this poem to focus mainly on her. Although, it has some similarity to my own life, I want it now viewed as a lovely memory of a woman who still stuns the world with her charismatic and sexy aura. I also want the reader to look beyond that in her, and find the vulnerable young woman who left us way to early; a broken woman, like myself, and many others whom could never find a proper place in that society she lived.
I wonder sometimes, what does that make people like us? There are many names for us: outcast, loner, introvert. It carries with us a lot of heartbreak, and depression; hidden insecurity that we never really can find a way to bury completely. I don't know, but I have always felt a kindred spirit with Marilyn in a lot of ways. She died before I was born of course, but my observance of her always made me feel a part of her.
A Soul Denied
I never wanted you to love
me for the outer glimpse of
a sexy vixen.
A red lipped siren to be
forgotten. It’s the depth of
my soul through my eyes…
that could tell you the story
of where my beauty lies.
A quiet little mouse stuck in a corner…
fearing to speak for lack of demise.
Then blossomed the quiet raven -
locked inside only to be seen through
bottles of pride.Beauty was the devil
that stole my soul…
a voice never heard by desired trolls.
A living doll that was played with plenty…
then tossed away like an old haggard
Still with beauty of deep to see…
yet beauty within was blind mans
So, as I sit in the middle of life…
still looked at with loins of lust.
Seems a pity I never found ones
true loves trust...
Beauty must fade as the days
turn to gray. And this box that
carries my inner allure…
will surely die inside me still
meek and pure...
© 2015 Missy Smith