We must have clamored for the same mother, hurried for
the same womb.
I know it now as I read that my birthday is his.
Since the first time I saw his picture, I sensed something—
and with a fierce bonding and animosity
began following his career.
Look where I am and look where he is!
There is a book documenting his every haircut
while all my image-building attempts go unnoticed, even
by my friends.
I'm too wimpy to just dye my curls red
or get them straightened. I, sickeningly moral,
talked about chemicals when I should have been
hanging out with George's pal, Marilyn.
He would have set me right:
Stop your whining and put on this feather tuxedo. Look,
do you want to be famous or not?
In the latest articles, Boy George is claiming he's not
really happy. Hmm, I think, just like me.
When he comes to New York and stays in hotels in
Gramercy Park
maybe he feels a pull to the Lower East Side,
wanders towards places where I am, but not knowing me,
doesn't know why.
One interviewer asks if he wishes he were a woman.
Aha! I read on with passion: and a poet?—I bet you'd like
that—
You wouldn't have to sing anymore, do those tiring tours.
George, we could switch. You could come live at my place,
have some privacy, regain your sense of self.
So I begin my letter. Dear Boy George,
Do you ever sit and wonder what's gone wrong?
If there's been some initial mistake?
Well, don't be alarmed, but there
has been.
i saw the comment nika made; saw it on her comments page. glad i did. this poem starts with a unique proposition: two wannabes groping to reach the same womb. do you REALLY regret that you lost the race? i wonder. almost 12 years later (than your poem was submitted) i wonder. or maybe you just made up this great story, and have not regretted what you have become versus what B.G. has become? nicely done! perhaps superbly done. i have heard of boy george and i think i could have said he was a singer, but that's about it. i wrote a poem [i think 'i hate people'? ? ] in which i stated that i was (sort of) jealous of some outstanding entertainers/humanitarians/athletes, even though jealous isn't the right word. it would be nice to know i had brought some joy/excitement-of-the-good kind/etc. into 1000's of people's lives [Hell,1,000.000's! ]. BUT i am really quite satisfied with my ho-hum life. at least now on PH i get to entertain a few people AND myself. YOU have entertained ME! thanks for sharing. bri :) i, too, shall send to MyPoemList, and maybe look at another of yours.
Wow, this is much better than a tribute. This is like we're meeting Boy George as you know him. It's like being given insight into a wild fantasy - and yet it's so vivid. I can almost see George wandering the streets wondering why he went where he went. I'm pretty much the fan of all fans, i'm a fan of alot of artists. Still, once i discover someone new - as i did with George about a week ago - i become pretty obsessed. And being obsessed with George is not hard at all, he's just such an interesting person. So my point is, I can totally understand how obsession can become a great work of art. And i mean obsession in the best way possible lol. Anyhow, this is going to my poem list for sure~ ~Nika
Not my favorite, but still good. I enjoy the examination of the celebrity/audience transposition with this trademark coyness.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I read this one through too. Boy is judging Australia's The Voice and providing lots of laughs, irony a forte.