She pricked her finger on a spindle.
She bit into a poisonous apple.
Lost her voice.
Let a glass slipper decide her fate.
Fell in love with a beast.
One fought for her family and found love.
One was free as a dove.
Arrows, seashells, glass slippers.
Roses, lilies, gods and monsters.
Magic and madness.
True love's kiss,
soft as cashmere and poisonous as the apple.
Strong as a cascading waterfall,
until he reveals his true self.
Romanticizing midnights
and pretty dresses.
They were imposters.
These stories that were spun.
Love is amorphous.
We require a chrysalis around our hearts,
because when a man is done,
he departs.
There is no kiss to break the spell.
Nothing to cure a damaged heart or wash away the tears.
When the slipper shatters,
or the arrows snap...
You never matter to him in the end.
There's nothing to mend,
but a coarse heart they prepared for slaughter.
