i grew up believing in the magic of fairy stories.
Where princes persevered and wooed the pretty princesses.
And the witch cast her dark magic- but to no avail.
i believed in the happily ever after.
Turns out, that magic does not exist.
Pretty princesses are just girls with perfect bodies; bodies too perfect to be true.
Filtered images. Reality television material; yet so unreal.
And princes are just boys that see only one thing.
Turns out, that evil spells do exist.
Villainous, evil spells cast by outcasted witches
seem to follow me around
because
there's no such thing as a happily ever after.
YOU ARE READING
wasp stings, broken butterfly wings
Poetrya short collection of poems exploring brokenness; sometimes the weight of our own emotions gets too heavy. 'i know where the butterflies go, where they flutter to once they've completed their blossom...' ~votes/comments/feedback very much appreciat...
