once there was a little girl
who was told she would grow up to be a princess.
nothing less
and nothing more.
the little girl smiled and nodded,
because that's what all little girls did.
and as the little girl grew up,
she realized
she didn't want to be a princess anymore.
bruised ribs from tightened corsets
and hugs filled with malice
numb lips from constant fake use
crushed feet
and hopes and dreams of happiness.
she sat in the bathtub and watched the water rise
and the layers upon layers of camouflage washed off her body.
and she cried and cried and poured herself a glass,
and she drank and drank and watched as everything slipped
away from her manicured fingertips.
and the pretty white porcelain was stained red with juice.
and she left her prison
and rose up
and watched from the sky.
her pretty little corpse in the bathtub
filled with pink berry bombs all waiting to go off.
and she cried and cried and cried
for herself.
because she was buried next to her innocence
in a pink field infested with pink butterflies
that were eaten by pink flowers,
in a pink field overrun with pink flowers
that were poisoned by pink rain,
in a pink field haunted with pink rain
drops of the perfect mix of blood and tears,
pretty pretty pink.
and no one cried for her,
so she cried for herself,
and her tears touched the hearts of the teddy bears left for her,
and the teddy bears rose
and tormented the dreams of the new little girls,
taunting them with promises of happiness.
and the little girl laughed
and smiled
and giggled
and left gifts for the new little girls.
a lighter,
perfume,
a bullet,
eyeliner,
a razor,
nail polish,
a muzzle,
lipstick,
everything a little girl needs in this world of princesses.
