i'd like to live in my mind
of fantasy lands
and overgrown worlds
bustling and shaking with life
in all forms
of giant snakes that zoom through the air
of witches and wizards in constant war
of golden knights and fair-headed dames
princesses wielding swords off to battle
and magic coursing through my veins
my blood is liquid dreams
and my heart beats to the melody of a lullabye
oh how i wish to live in my head
untouched by the grime of time
unburdened by the weight of my reality
unbroken
unburied.

My feet were too big
so the glass slipper wouldn't fit

I hated housework
so no band of merry dwarves

I had frequent nightmares
so no peaceful sleep interrupted by a chaste kiss

I liked my hair short
so no prince tugging at my hair

Words, too often, hurt
and I am a bigger beast than any man I've met

No tiara for me
I will settle for a sword

No hero for me
I will be my own hero

No fairy dust for me
I will conjure up my own

in storybook endings ,
the princesses
found their princes.
The valiant heroes
chases away all the dragons.
The lost would find
their way home.
And people would find
what they've lost.
But then, whatever happened
to those who fell in love
with the dragons instead?
The damsels,
who became too comfortable
with their own distress?

Rose petals
Sharp knive
Sparkling ballgown
Dazzled yet heavy crown
White gloves
Damage heels
Unbearable armor
Complicated manner
Tricky mutuals


you know? being a Princess isn't that easy

The sky transitions from yellow to orange,
From orange to red, and red to dusk.
Her snowy hair and diamond skin
Render its final sparkle before the sun sleeps.
Fallen royalty, she is.
I met her at the crossroads
On a path leading somewhere, and to nowhere.
We shared the moment of anguish.
“Your majesty,” I say
But her gentle yet worn hands cover my words.
“Shh,” her eyes tell me.
No interest in words of the past,
No desire to venture towards the future, no.
Instead we stand in silence
Allowing the burden of hope to settle in.
The sadness behind her beauty is daunting.
She has known love before,
But never felt the warmth of being in it.
Her tears are figurative, for I know the look.
My hand searches for hers and
We watch the darkness swallow the sun.

“I’ll be dead by morning, oh the night is young.
I’ll be dead by morning, my final song is sung.”