I’m not anyone’s idea of Cinderella.
Sadly, I won’t be attending the ball.
My slippers aren’t glass, and no one will ask
for my hand in this grand entrance hall.
My lips aren’t blood, and my skin is not snow
No dwarves do I have, let alone seven.
There’s no evil Queen to lock me in sleep,
no Prince to redeem me from Heaven.
I don’t have gold locks, a tower length long.
No witch keeps me locked here beside her.
No spindle pricked fingers, nor dragons on guard.
Nothing special this night will occur.
I’m alone in this world, no Prince of my own.
No one waiting to kiss these lips lightly.
There’s no dashing great steed, no gallant deed.
Sadly, no more men who act knightly.
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 3:41 AM UTC
I’m not anyone’s idea of Cinderella.
Sadly, I won’t be attending the ball.
My slippers aren’t glass, and no one will ask
for my hand in this grand entrance hall.
My lips aren’t blood, and my skin is not snow
No dwarves do I have, let alone seven.
There’s no evil Queen to lock me in sleep,
no Prince to redeem me from Heaven.
I don’t have gold locks, a tower length long.
No witch keeps me locked here beside her.
No spindle pricked fingers, nor dragons on guard.
Nothing special this night will occur.
I’m alone in this world, no Prince of my own.
No one waiting to kiss these lips lightly.
There’s no dashing great steed, no gallant deed.
Sadly, no more men who act knightly.
Request permission to use this poem