Unaccomplished Dreams

This is a long poem about an old woman who never accomplished her dreams.

"I'm sick!" I say. "I'm sick and cold!"

"I'm sick, I'm cold, tired, and old!"

I can barely hear, I can barely see,

I'm too old to be what I wanted to be.

I wanted to be a star, to dance in bright lights.

I left the south with a youthful fight.

I dyed my hair blonde, saved money for a dress.

I moved to California, I didn't know it was all a mess.

I thought I was beautiful because I was young.

I went to auditions and my favorite songs I sung.

I made it to Hollywood and saw the stars,

Marilyn Monroe and flashy cars.

I looked at my dress that I thought was so nice,

the dress that I bought for such a bargain price.

And then I compared it to their expensive Chanel,

their brand names and stage names and golden bells.

And for years I tried to make it big,

to model, to sing, and then I had kids;

"disgraceful" love children, who grew up in the slums.

My brown roots grew in

and by Hollywood I was shunned,

And by the time of Twiggy, I was too damn old,

too damn old, heavy, angry, and bold

to compete with a bleach blonde with skinny limbs.

My daughters even told me,

"You're too old to follow the trends".

And their father walked out, met a woman stil young,

with breasts abundant and a slick tongue.

So he left us for that bimbo

who had style but no respect.

And my old-fashioned southern ways

my daughters began to detest.

My hair first brown, then blonde, now turned grey,

and nobody cared about a thing I had to say.

The "Hollywood life" had failed me,

living the dream left me alone.

I never quite got to the stage,

and as I got older I was all on my own.

I called my family in Georgia, but all it did was create a fight.

I found out soon after I had left, my mother had died.

So I ended up taking a plane, some sixty-odd years too late,

to see my mothers' tombstone, her sad fate.

And my family said I had a stroke, right there by her grave,

they said I nearly died, and that I was barely saved.

So they put me here in this old folks' home,

down by the creek with dark water.

But they never come to visit me,

not even my grown daughters.

And here nobody talks about Hollywood,

and if they do it's not like I once did,

they laughed and made jokes when I talked about

trying to find and book my first gig.

So now I just stay silent and I do what I'm told.

I realize my body has a clock, and it's growing old.

I take my medication and I wonder what could have been

if I had gone to Hollywood and made it big.

 

Author's Note

what do you think?

Reviews

[MoriartyMesa]

"I moved to California, I didn't know it was all a mess"

Native born, I could have said that, but I like the feeling of hope and loss, all at the same time.

[nigrum homonculus]

that was good! rarely i have to stop reading a poem just to go *pardon my language* fuuuuuuuck. that was sad. you portrayed the sadness nicely and i love how it becomes increasingly worse for the person as the poem goes on. well done!