whatever happened to the girl
who once dreamed of balloons flying over Broadway
as an awesome sign of admiration
for her latest cinematic triumph
she would be given the key to the city
a parade would be held in her honor
the clop of the horses would become a rumble
for the most amazing icon, the very best
she would settle for nothing less
did she have a stroke of bad luck
or was she too scared to compete?
she was never the right fit
for the part of the femme fatale
her face was much too ordinary
her hips were much too big
some may say it's sad what became of that girl
but she can't complain
she moved out to the country
her audience consists of horses and squirrels
who don't pay much attention
she likes baking pies
and living where folks don't have to lock their doors
she isn't keen for just scraping by
but she was never cut out for glitz and glamour
the high life would have brought her low
probably put her six feet under
it may be redundant to ask
if anything of that girl who hoped
for balloons over Broadway
and parades in her honor
remains hidden in the shadows
of the mind of an unglamorous old fat woman
who lives in a town small enough
that she could pedal to the sole store within minutes
perhaps the girl realized who she really was
or perhaps she couldn't live with the reality
either way, it's probably for the best
that her glitzy dreams never came true
beneath the sea of ubiquitous pretty faces
and impossibly slender bodies
courtesy of cocaine and starvation
Hollywood's heart is cold
~ornery owl~
Free use image from Open Clipart Vectors
Prompt: Shadows
Prompt: write a response poem
I posed a question and wrote a response to it.
Prompt: Horses
There are horses mentioned in this poem.
The Icky, Sticky, Nit-Picky Legalese If You Please (Or Don't Please)
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