mild celebrity

[Keith]

1st edit

She thought she was the epitome of cosmopolitan...

She painted her nails red
while listening to the gay disco hits,
a martini glass on a coaster made of cork. I like the cheap images

Plucked and tweezed and oiled and waxed is there such a word as tweezed? who cares I like it
to a cocoa-butter tanned perfection. again solid images

A man in her distant past had purchased her,
had stayed away while the bandages were present
then later tucked her arm through his to show
his ownership.
He wanted to inspire jealousy and awe,
but all he received were telling looks
and an underlying sympathy for her. this feels very prose

Inevitably she was discarded roughly and without mercy,
shrugged off like an outgrown skin.
She twittered, birdlike for a while,
it never really did sink in.

She continued with her ritual maintenance
so practised she was, at worshipping herself you don't need so, she or was.
with a blank-faced, smooth-lined stare. you don't need with
Sanity slowly slipped from her mind's grasp,
she had a tattoo, delighted in the small pleasure
of the pain. A copied version of a un-glossy picture
in a magazine filled to the brim with d-list personalities.

She longed for a d-list life.
Like a religion she studied the form of her contemporaries
inwardly seething at those who she deemed to 'have it all.'

She lurched, in an ever downward spiral
from successful man to moderate man to loser.

Her scars had faded years ago,
although the mascara build-up on her lashes
could have filled a bucket full of lost dreams. Great lines here

She kept her fingernails red.
She still bought the magazines.

She twitched and floundered like
a several minutes out of water fish.

Then, one day, she realised and accepted
what it was that she was meant to be,
she put on her fake jewellery,
knowing that it was representative of her fake life.

She bought a bottle of vodka a day and gave in. solid ending to the story

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Original

She thought she was the epitome of cosmopolitan...

She painted her nails red
while listening to the gay disco hits,
a martini glass on a coaster made of cork.

Plucked and tweezed and oiled and waxed
to a cocoa-butter tanned perfection.

A distant in the past man had purchased her,
had stayed away while the bandages were present
then later tucked her arm through his to show
that he owned this beautiful creature.
He wanted to inspire jealousy and awe,
but all he received were telling looks
and an underlying sympathy for her.

So, she was discarded roughly and without mercy,
shrugged off like an outgrown skin.
She twittered, birdlike for a while,
it never really did sink in.

She continued with her ritual maintenance
so practised she was, at worshipping herself
with a blank-faced, smooth-lined stare.

Sanity slowly slipped from her minds grasp,
she had a tattoo, delighted in the small pleasure
of the pain. A copied version of a un-glossy picture
in a magazine filled to the brim with d-list personalities.

She longed for a d-list life.
Like a religion she studied the form of her contemporaries
inwardly seething at those who she deemed to 'have it all.'

Her scars had faded years ago,
although the mascara build-up on her lashes
could have filled a bucket full of lost dreams.
She lurched, in an ever downward spiral
from successful man to moderate man to loser.

She kept her fingernails red.
She still bought the magazines.

She twitched and floundered like
a several minutes out of water fish.
Then, one day, she realised and accepted
what it was that she was meant to be,
she put on her fake jewellery,
knowing of the fact that it was representative of her fake life.

She bought a bottle of vodka a day and gave in.

I like the edit but you need to go further and cut down the lines to really bring out what you want to say in as few words as possible. At the moment you have a great topic, some very visual lines but you are telling a story as if it were prose.

For example
Then, one day, she realised and accepted
what it was that she was meant to be,
she put on her fake jewellery,
knowing that it was representative of her fake life.

Could be something like

Realisation accepted the fake,
life as paste as the jewellery
she no longer mistakes as real.

I hope this helps and explains what I mean when I say you need to cut it down and bring out the real points. Best TOMH