My blood ran blue even before
those glittering people called for me
but my silhouette appeared effortless on screen,
and my ruby lips teased, locked tight,
with all the words they wouldn't say.
I spent a long time on top
of every best dressed list.
Sophistication, I think,
paid the rent. Sex appeal without
the sex. Humility despite bejeweled beginnings.
Everybody gets old
if they are lucky and I would like to think
that I was blessed in this way.
I aged with grace, as I did most things
and subtly, unabashedly wrinkled
and blemished, disregarding the silicone
beckoning of Hollywood.
"Iconic," they call me
as they revere photographs of me
in my Breakfast at Tiffany's best.
they admire my commercial smile,
fancy dresses, brief moments from youth.
I won awards, fell in love, helped the poor.
My features softened and sunk,
yet I will always be remembered
for being pretty.