And why is it that even if I pray harder, I get rejected even more? The cycle of pricking my finger on a spinning wheel was something I couldn't get myself out of. How much ruthlessness should I suffer before escaping this curse I didn't wish to be part of in the first place?
How many more beasts am I supposed to meet before finding the one who's pure from deep within? And how do I decipher the beast if all were wearing spurious faces? The beasts I knew had fangs and nails so huge that they can almost cut deep into your flesh. How come these beasts are more dazzling princes than dastards?
When my mother said fairytales were true, I wish I did not believe her. The prejudice of women wanting saviors is more difficult to break than the chains that have paralyzed me for so long. You said someone would save me and make me feel new? That my ragged clothes would become pleasant, and I'll never feel blue.
Then fuck the stories for making you think you needed someone to save you.
We are women capable of more than what we thought we knew. No spinning wheel and horrible castles could imprison us. We do not need a prince or a beast to make us understand that we are worthy of everything.
I am alady. And even if I'm the center of madness, I am a warrior.
YOU ARE READING
The Brain is Never at Rest
PoesíaHi. This is a collection of the pieces I wrote for the past years. If some of these sounded or looked familiar, it's because I've posted them in another account I used to go by. Thank you for taking the time to read my work! I hope you'll have a fu...
