When I was a little girl I wanted to be the princess
who was chased with a fancy slipper,
by Prince Charming whose intentions were
as pure as my white dress.
But as I’ve gotten older,
I’d like to request just the heels – hold the man.
You see, my dresses are permanently stained
after being dragged behind me as I’ve run
from the man he claimed he didn’t want to be.
I’ve yet to meet a prince whose
own demons didn’t trap his princess in the tower
while he begged her to come down.
I’m not a genie ready to fall
on my knees to grant him any wish he
That’s not freedom, that’s a cheap
trick and he’s only a one-trick wonder after all…
So what was I supposed to do once his curtain fell to reveal
his true colors?
I mean, can you imagine believing in Oz after that?
He must think I’m still lost in flowered fields
counting the petals
“he loves me he loves me not.”
I love myself more than I loved a lost boy
looking for a mother figure.
& I’m not fucking Jiminy Cricket
sent to show a puppet how to become a real boy
and to be quite honest,
I’d rather see my ex swallowed whole by a whale
collecting on his bullshit fables
than explain over and over again
that lies will only ever drown him.
I’m dropping this anchor he put around my neck
because it’s damn time he found his
You see, a real boy has to believe in more
than their own wood,
and his was never very magical for me.
Now I’m not saying I’ve been Sleeping Beauty,
A patient, passive princess on her back –
Unless that means she had a reputation for sleeping around.
No, I’ve bitten into my own poisoned apple enough times to
understand the reflection I’m screaming at
to praise me will never tell me I’m beautiful
if I’m still seeking validation from someone else.
I’ve purged that rotting darkness
and I refuse to fall into a deep sleep
next to someone whose back is turned to me
in order to disguise the dragon they become
when I’m not the perfect princess to fit on his
I don’t believe in fairytales.
I believe in ‘fuck you’s when they’re warranted.
I believe in fighting your own battles,
and a coward can’t pull a sword from stone.
So maybe that shoe was never going to fit,
because my feet were meant for standing up
I don’t need the sea to teach me
my voice should be heard even when I whisper.
And I’m tired of yelling.
It’s taken so long to build my own castle
while he was off in a Kingdom far far away,
he didn’t realize he became the jester of my story –
What a joke.