I made reference to this poem in an earlier post; I wrote it in angry response to my Year 9 class (who were writing love poems) and their obsession with Miley Cyrus. I wrote it after one of the students asked me why I didn’t think she was a good role model.
Of all the stuff I’ve written, this has been received the least warmly. I think because it’s perhaps a little vicious to get so angry at Miley Cyrus for being awful when she’s working in an industry that encourages young women to behave in the way that she behaves, and rewards them with cash and sycophancy when they do.
But at the time I had been reading about Miley’s conflict with Sinead O’Connor and so I sort of hated her for that already. There was a lot of bile built up, basically.
This isn’t the role model you’re looking for
Miley wasn’t born: she was factory made,
That devil-may-care tongue jammed on with glue.
Someone else’s lyrics retch from her throat.
Nothing that she does, ‘thinks’ or says rings true.
Like Hollister, botox and nicotine,
Plastic promises hide the ugly truth:
Money is the only real objective,
Hiding behind that old illusion: youth.
Off the rails? Miley’s train is deftly steered.
Girls who like reading don’t get Google hits.
‘Hey kids, take drugs!’ Nice. Stay classy, Sony!
‘And price your soul more cheaply than your tits!’
Miley, the time will come when payment’s due.
Then only the devil will care for you.