The fairytale was my life.
But the story itself wasn't mine.

Placed in a town
In a time of kings and queens,
Princes and princesses,
I was a commoner.

The palace was my dream
but not for the money,
obviously for the love.

I saw him everyday,
Stealing food with his adorable monkey sidekick,
Swift and sly,
He was calm and kind.

We greeted from time to time
With the simple eye lock
And a sweet smile.
My heart danced for hours on end
Yet he'd have forgotten me by then.

It didn't matter-
He knew I existed,
That was what was most important to me.

I watched him graciously live
The scary life.
Risks of being caught
But he laughed it all off.

I begged for another word
As I followed him in my only clothes,
Stalking after him but only to get a glimpse
Of the poor prince he meant to me.

I dreamt about him every night
Even if our eyes only spoke-
Even if his eyes only said one word-
Even if that one word was
“Hello.”

But after days of analysing him,
Figuring him out through everything but words,
I was caught off guard-
Our eyes didn't catch each other anymore.

He forgot I existed.
He didn't acknowledge me.
He didn't smile at the least.

But the closer I got and I could see-
His eyes were blind.
There was someone else.

I saw him wishing for the world,
Wishing for her,
Thinking about her.
Wanting to be with her.
Needing her.

To say I was broken was an understatement.

He changed.
He followed into the palace,
He stayed there for long,
I barely saw him.

He changed from me into them.
He became a prince.
She accepted him-
It was still romantic.

He rode his flying carpet into the night
The same night I saw the stars as his eyes.
He looked at her with his heart,
The same way I hoped he looked into me.
He gave her more than the magic lamp ever could,
The same way I wished on the moon he could give me.
His love was in his heart.
My love was in my soul.

He  dressed up for rags
Getting ready to accept riches,
Wishing on a genie,
For her and her heart.
Feelings broken I realised he had fallen in love.
He was Aladdin
He was never mine.

It was clear as the sky;
I wasn't  his Jasmine.

When you feel the world is hating on you.
Smiles are rare now.
I only walk into hate.

Maybe it's the sun?
But the people I love,
Are turning into my enemies.

These ears hurt,
After all the voices.
Voices that I can't stand.
Voices that mimic me.

I'm not sure anymore,
Of anything at all.
A silence settles between my friends,
I'm so afraid.

My vision so blurry,
I only look into the void now.
Has life taken me by it's hands,
And shook me sightless?

I'm distant,
But with a fake smile.
My voice hoarse,
From all the comforting.

Leaving  has made me realize,
I don't belong,
If no one wants me.

There are a few,
That light a fire in me.
But the numbers have shrunk,
By an infinite amount.

It never is depression,
But I wish to slip away.
To see if it is worth it,
I there is a silver lining.

I never want tomorrow to come,
If today was bad enough.
I feel as if there is nothing to look forward to.
Nothing at all.

I don't know anyone anymore,
As if they've grown up without me.
I wasn't their missing link,
But only a useless one.

My feelings are numb,
I feel so empty.
I don't understand anything.
I just don't know.

It's that feeling that resembles rejection which is so familiar,
It's comforting, and you can finally say:

**"I'm used to it."

Her ribs crackled, in the skeleton night.
And I remember my mouth on hers,
where atomic fish hooks attached our lips.
Where there was nothing like kissing
like our God wasn't dead.

She was accused of killing a taxi driver
in the Brazilian underbelly.
Smoking a cigarette, she dropped it on the ground,
spat on it, and crushed it with her bare foot,
saying she fell in love with the way
his sleep-drenched body lay.

And I told her to stay home.
And I told her that they'd find her.
But she didn't stay home.
And they did find her.

Chasing her through the Babylon brush,
insults were thrown and so were balloons of gasoline.
Each pink, yellow, and green vessel floated in the air, as an internal opera heightened.
And sour splashes spread across her body,
as she fled from the vigilante mob.

The children danced along the panoramic horizon she ran beside,
laughing, pointing, singing.
The slumbering sorrow of the situation became evident,
and she started to feel the calm of fleeting life.

Her dreams aborted and her ideals became fallacies,
and with the sound of fuzzy motors in the background, her heart leapt and her feet slipped.

Rope ate into her, wrapping her like the orphaned recklessness of each set of eyes that painted her.
She squirmed amongst the cheers.
She cried with every thrown beer and balloon.
The empty-eyed males gang ***** her.
The women covered the children's eyes,
and the children tried to move their mothers' hands.

And I pushed my way through the crowd.
And I saw her smothered in blood, beer, and gasoline.
I wanted to halt the hurricane that destroyed morality.
But I am a coward.
Frozen by my fear, I, too, am a murderer.
And a murderer I'll always be,
for the burning of all that was good.

Sudden flames soared towards the sky.
Laughter escaped as molotov cocktails exploded onto her body.
Her head turned towards the crowd,
as flames scampered across her face.
I saw in her, what I never saw before,
which was the human race.

When your skin color defined the rest of your life.

I’ve tattooed a line across
the veins of my wrist
and marked a down stroke
for every time
“you can’t wear red lipstick”
made me believe
I never wanted to in the first place.

for every time instead
I’ve stained my lips with cherries
learning how to tie the stems
so I can slip forget-me-knots
to the back of your throat—
do you feel my restriction now?

the razors that fly off my tongue
perk thorns on my skin,
another down stroke on my wrist
will teach me that
you were right,
shyness is a virtue.

no need to speak,
go spend one hundred dollars
and some percent for tax
to cover up,
even though I’m sure your mother told you
that cotton stains.

so make it black.
get your hair stuck
in the zipper of that sundress
and pray as you pull it out
that it will lose its pigmentation
in the process
mark a down stroke
for killing two flowers
for one bouquet.

hold it
close your eyes and throw it back,
I know we shouldn’t be wearing white anyway
but tradition can take a lot out of you
like what you really think—
don’t say **** in public.

instead drag your first impressions
all the way to the altar
and dress in your Sunday best
a flower on your lapel
clear on your lips
a stroke for the neat decline
of the son

I tattooed a line across
the veins of my wrist
and marked a down stroke
for every time
my image
was my fault.