Unfit for Fame

Those eyes would bore into you, probe you, challenge you

Plead with you

Those eyes, they belied how fragile you were

Underneath that powerhouse voice of yours

This interplay of maturity and innocence

They clashed in the limelight and left you depleted, full of void

Empty of affections

No amount of beehive hair or dramatic dress up could help

Shield you from public vultures

Who were and still continue trying to fill an equally empty core

Your sounds were well-rounded; they were deeply rooted, ripe with years

This was not the voice of an ingénue, of someone just out of the starting blocks

And this is where the delusion lay, where people around you got it all wrong

They listened with awe and failed to see the face asking for aid

Armed with a guitar and prepped with a notepad in hand

You were happy with little breakthroughs, with intimate recognition

Freedom and Fame, in your mind, had nothing to do with star treatment

And turning your private life inside out

The constant snapping away sent you spiraling

Spiraling ever deeper into distraction, avoidance,

And flirtations with annihilation

Your uniqueness set you apart on many planes

But they treated you all the same

~

How many more times must we see an artist's soul unwind and come undone

How many more rounds of self-destruction

Aided and abetted by a public's obsession

Must we watch with tears in our eyes and a mournful

Whisper of: ‘How sad’, and a lingering sigh of ‘gone so young’

Maybe she was meant to unravel whether inside or away from the public eye

Maybe her insufficiency would have sufficed

For an untimely exit at the fateful 27 stage

Her rebellion and escape started early on –

A diffident mother and an opportunistic father

And her heart set on contributing an original voice to the old tired music genre

~

The sour note prevails and with it the wonderment

Of how these repetitive stories of rapid stardom

Ending in untimely siren songs could be dodged

It's the result of a collective severance of connection

It's feeling voraciously hungry but not knowing how to still the primal need

Believe me, Amy, we are all in the same boat

The only difference is: you lived it out loud - your life and death showed

Where we all err and how we'll all end up if we don't intone a different script

Instead of expecting life to be a losing game

And contemplating moving back to black

The cumulative heart is ripe for rehab

The community at large is in dire need of it

And unlike what you professed in swooning tones

There is no more time for 'No, no, no'