Let me begin to chip away,
Piece by piece,
The idealistic fantasy of
The White Knight.

It was never fair to you
Nor I
To expect saving
And almost.. perfection.

A story so often spoon fed to us all
From young ages.
Promised, almost.
So young our minds cling to this projection of what "should" be.

You men carry things
We women could never fathom
Until we open our hearts to see you,
Truly see you,
And graciously allow you
To also be human.