Norma Jeane, Gone so young, Elton John, sung you a song,
Many judged you,Yet got so much wrong, They didn't know you had insecurities too, Amy Greene said you had many abortions, But your autopsy showed none, Joan Crawford spoke bad too, They blew it out of proportion, Life for you was not great, Raped many times before age eight, In & out of foster home's left & right, Noted for a perfectionist with low self esteem, Married at the young age of sixteen, You were sick of the foster home scene, Hairline raised, over bite correction, silicon implanted in your jawline & I could name more, Couldn't carry a baby, Even though you tried, & How you must have cried, Everytime a miscarriage a lil more of you died, Accused of being against a race, Just because of your platinum blonde hair base, You spoke up against it, You were typecast & underpaid, the dumb blondeshell without a brain, But, Time magazine called you a, "shrewed bussiness woman", who went after what she knew, Because you owned your own
studio, Marilyn Monroe
Productions, Yes you were the fame of seduction, Since everyone seemed to know your every move, Then why did you die on Aug 5th but not found until Aug 6 1962, RIP.

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Recorded Voices
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Once I thought, I was the reason,
For your smile and warm seasons.
But it's been a while before,
And I know, I'm not there anymore...

I know people start making faces,
When my words try to leave traces.
Of memories, that were once mine,
But now, on a different shore, the sun shines...

But there are no hard feelings,
And on my knees, I'm kneeling.
As I sing songs of the heart,
That were once, meant for you.

Time, now and then may seem rough,
There's no moment to say it's enough.
As the pain feels softer in my head,
Sorrows are the cushions of my bed.

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