Pretty baby

My mother used me for profit as her 

chapped lips grasped the spout of her liquor bottle

We were a team

She was my mom, and I was her job

My Atlantic eyes stared into the camera

At 11 months old

I sold Ivory Soap

At 11 years old

I became the Pretty Baby

auctioned off for my looks

Standing there like an object in front of grown men 

as they bid and adjusted their tuxedos

I kissed one of them.

I don’t even know how to kiss anybody

My child's blouse lay weakly on the floor

But it’s okay 

because it was for the movie

At 14 years old, I lay on the beach in my white cut-out skirt

My long brown hair acting as a shirt

To cover the features I didn’t even have

As I watch the blue lagoon pass by

Lying on the floor in my blue jeans, I ask

You know what comes between me and my Calvins?

Nothing

What does that even mean?

And I’m not saying I was clueless

But I didn’t know

My life had been set and scripted before I could speak

Before I could think for myself

To fit the desires of the public, to fit the desires of the male gaze

I never had a moment to find myself

And there’s no return of innocence once it has been stolen

Once my longing fire has been extinguished before it could even burn

So I just disassociated

And agreed

And agreed

I had everything a girl could ever want

My face, good enough for Michael Jackson 

My fame, the most beautiful girl in the world

And just who wouldn’t want that?

But it’s funny how so many people can know you

And would do anything to be you

But you feel lonelier than ever before

Like a hurt cherry barb, stopping in the middle of his school

No one is noticing; everyone just keeps swimming

And the cherry barb just waits

Twisting and turning from the currents and fins that manipulate him

And he 

lets it happen

And ends up even more hurt than before 

All I am is a pretty face

A powerless pretty face

On the highway, going 90 with 

a broken emergency brake

My words are as helpless as

The stop signs I tried to post

The red lights my mother ignored

The unbuckled seat belt that failed to protect me

When I fly overboard

When it’s too late to stop

Cathryn Murray ‘28

I wrote this poem after watching the Brooke Shields documentary, Pretty Baby. Her life was unique in the sense that her surface-level appearance took control of her existence in terms of her career and how she was treated from a young age. I found this idea thought-provoking and decided to write a poem from her point of view.