Like all fairytale princesses,
She most enjoyed getting muddy and traipsing about the woods
As opposed to sitting in her luscious room, trying to feel pretty.
Having her beauty be pressed upon her
as her highest value
since she was old enough to admire a flower,
She didn't feel right when she didn't feel beautiful.
But she felt most beautiful when
she was running through the woods
Branches swiping at her flowing locks
And sometimes writing undecodable messages on her fair visage
In faded shades of pink and red that never lasted
Longer than she could smile about them.
She felt most beautiful when snowflakes mottled her hair
Like an icy tiara,
The only crown she could ever imagine wearing,
Her breath puffing like dragons awakening
Her cheeks blushed into a deep red which she relished.
She felt most beautiful when she was free.
