Oh, you've heard her all the times before,
the seashore girl, the midnight star,
paler only than the white knight
striding from the peanut gallery,
cell phone sword in hand.
You've heard of the
smiling, charming,
built for beauty,
the trusting,
hopeful
girl
who
does not
exist because I
love the concept of
being someone's hero
too much to slay the dragon.
I slay paperbacks and TV binges
and essays and occasionally, when the sky
feels like being blue, I'll write a love poem about
the girl who does not exist.