I told myself
                the white walls of her
castle illuminated my class,

That the poverty in
                my footsteps traipsed dirt
into pristine halls.

That my broken home
                would leave shards
of splinters in her own.

That I should never
                play the role of prince
with the conviction I felt in my soul.

That she was a fairytale I wasn’t allowed.

I didn’t voice
                I’d heard the term lesbian
and come to understand things about myself.

That the syllables of
                her name on my tongue
carried the tang of hymns.

That her name made my empty soul soar.
And then fall.

That her name made God jealous.