the art of loving you

forty nine.

we used to believe in
love at first sight and fairytales,
those silly lovesick stories
our mommas loved to preach.
we wanted to fall in love
with some beautiful stranger,
who would whisk us off our feet
and we'd live happily ever after.

but this is not
beauty and the beast,
i do not seek adventure
and find myself surrounded
by enchantment and
a beast that hides a heart, no;
my beasts hide in plain sight
not in some far off castle,
and no one loves the beauty
when she's got a brain as well;
the only magic mirror
is the one that tells me
be better be better be better
and my father flits from prince to monster
and i'm no princess, no,
i'm just a girl who fears
the falling petals of the rose.

but this is not
sleeping beauty,
she does not frolic in the woods
to the tune of far off dreams
and find a prince who loves her
despite her color scheme, no;
the malevolence is hidden
in fire breathing boys
who chew her up and spit her out
because she wants blue instead of pink,
her parents do not miss her
and she deathly fears the woods
and she wishes she could sleep forever
since there's no one she can kiss
and she's not a princess, no,
she's just a girl who fears
the hidden dragon and its roar.

but this is not
a fairytale,
this is not a dream,
we do not belong to disney
and we're ripping at the seams,
because disney princesses love prince charming
or some rebel like aladdin,
but what about the rest of them
stuck somewhere in between?
so we will not be like the others
we will wear our tiaras high,
and she and i might not be princesses
but we can still find our happy endings
without a prince in sight.

-x-

a/n: because someone tried to tell me otherwise.