Your eyes tell stories
more fictitious than
the Disney movies
I grew up watching.
Where tales of heroism
and unfailing love
filled my mind
with a tangible hope
that penetrated my soul
And the same one
that I cling to
now in solace
while I lie in my bed
convincing myself
of just the opposite.

That fairytales don't exist.
That the look in your eyes
is a lie.
And that although in the deepest
crevice of my heart,
and in the gut
of my bottomless stomach
I know
you feel at least something,
I will forever
deem it unattainable.

Because Mr. Disney
didn't write my life story
and I am no princess
nor you a Prince Charming.
And those tales of
happy endings
and true love
are for people
who are afraid of
a rocky road
and an uncertain future.
Snow White was helpless.
Cinderella had no backbone,
And the truth is
we are all beasts
in need of a Belle.
So if there's one thing
I can request of you love,
it is that the next time
you look at me
from across the room
with that gaze that re-ignites
hope in my soul,
it is that you do so
with eyes like hers,
pure and untainted
void of selfishness
and fear.

Because deep down
I will always be
that little girl
sitting in front of the tv screen
believing wholeheartedly
that one day that tale will be mine.