Marilyn Monroe

• Jacqueline Loh, Grade 10
• Poetry
• 2013

When you walk through each of the different rooms, each wall has numerous large photos of her from numerous years ago; dressed provocatively and posing suggestively, adjacent from one another encased in a large gold frame, you couldn’t miss one wall without a photo of her on it. Each wall has been alternately painted a dark fuchsia colour and cream beige, with silver embroidering slivering through the sides of the walls.

In the lounge lays another giant portrait of her from years ago. It’s a simple room, with a chocolate coloured sofa with her silk evening gown placed on top of it, a very vintage TV playing tapes of her during her limelight years and a wooden table places aside from the chocolate sofa. On the wooden table appears to be files and documents, unpaid debt and taxes, divorce papers and letters from loved ones on how she has been doing after all these years.

In her bedroom is what seems interesting. On her bed appears to be a thin layer of dust covering the duvet, as if she hasn’t been sleeping for days. To the left of her bed is a table with a ¾ empty bottle of alcohol and a glass with a thin layer remaining, to right of her bed appears to be a recently burned out cigarette, illuminating the dark room with its small light. Near the far back of this room, is a trophy cases filled with awards from years and years ago.
Upon the far wall, was a walk in closet, in front of the closet appears to be a white sequined dress with its seams burst apart on each side of the outfit, lying dead on the floor. Stepping aside from the dead dress on the floor, the wardrobe was filled with once lively outfits and costumes. Each of these gowns was coded by events, browsing each rack it appears as if someone made a very desperate attempt to search for something. At the end of the wardrobe is a tall, faceless mannequin wearing a white veil.
To the side of her room is a walk in bathroom, I think that’s what made bedroom seem like the most depressing place on earth. Before I stepped into the bathroom, I found the ground beneath me soaking wet from tap water. As soon as I opened the door, a bathtub continually is being filled up with cold water. On the wall appears to be a violently punched mirror wardrobe with small droplets of blood spilling into the sink, a only half a bottle of un-prescribed medication splattered on the tiles and an old , tattered rope on the floor.

'Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was a tragedy.'
A tragedy which even after decades is still remembered as being one of the most brightest and beautiful thing that ever existed.