i was sixteen when i stopped
believing in fairy tales
and all the magic, the mystique,
faded from my innocent eyes.
i was not a princess
and prince charming wasn’t standing
at the bottom of my tower,
calling my name,
beckoning for me to let down my hair.
there was no knight in shining armor
to save me from the grips of evil
or sadness
or heartbreak
or tears—
all of these things were inevitable,
unavoidable,
and nobody came to kiss me
out of my deep sleep or
sweep me off my glass-slippered feet.
happy endings only existed
between the pages of story books,
dreams that never came true.
real life was tangible,
it grabbed me by the hands
and refused to let go.
(so tell me why i’m still hopelessly
searching for my ever after.)