She walks home from the ball, glass slipper in hand      
Underneath the stars,
the fairy-tale kind.       
Hair falls sloppily over her neck,                                      
and her dress turns back into tatters.                                  

She must pass through the forbidden forest,                    
the one that all women must travel.

As she enters, the handsome princes smile at her
before turning to dogs and howling.
They follow her from a distance,
but she still feels their hot breath on her
neck.

The trees come to life and taunt her,
laughing at her messy appearance
Until all their leaves fall to the earth,
and ***** at her curves and legs.

The bubbling stream forces her to view her reflection
in its cold and distorted mirror.
Then shows her beautiful queens
much prettier than her
Forcing her to make a comparison.

The princess makes it out,
though she hardly feels like one at all.
Scraping for some semblance of identity
She holds herself
in the harsh wind.