Once upon a time,
Not so long ago,
Lived an unhappy girl
Living an unhappy life.

One day,
She fell down a hole.
F
  a
     l
       l
         i
           n
              g,
She called for help.

No one answered.

The little girl was all alone now,
At the bottom of an endless pit.
Nothing to hope for,
Nothing to lose.

She first tried to help herself.
Finding twigs to build up.
But they were twigs,
And twigs snap.

Then, she tried to call for help.
Anybody passing by could hear her pleas.
But nobody cared,
And nobody came.

The little girl tried and tried,
She yelled for help and hurt herself.
She jumped high as Jack’s beanstalk.
Cried as loud as Hansel and Gretel.

Eventually,
She came to terms that she was alone.
Alone and done for,
She laid down on the cold rocks below her.

She reflected on herself.
Her happy ending wasn’t coming,
That’s for sure.
So what could she do?

As darkness slowly enveloped her,
She smiled grimly.
“I was done for from the start.
Unwanted and uncared for.”

“I hurt myself and starved myself,
Nobody listened.
I tried to make a scene.
I had tried everything.”

“Now,
I start as I began.
An unhappy girl
In an unhappy life.”

We used to go to bed listening to fairytales
Hearing about princesses and dragons
Unreachable dreams and fake heroes
Diversion

We welcome warm winters only after cold summers
For I remember admiring the shiny moon
Contemplating ruins
And admiring autumn's vulnerability

Growing from bittersweetness
Accepting pain as an energy
Finding hopes in every step
Maybe now greyness is the miracle I need

Once upon a time,
is how fairytales begin,
but Happily Ever After,
is not reality before The End.

Take anguish and grief,
and sprinkle it with some spite.
Add a dash of self hatred,
and some pain till it tastes right.

Don’t forget betrayal,
to give it that bitter note.
Maybe just a pinch of love,
to bring the sweetness to your throat.

And you can’t forget addiction,
any one will do.
Maybe a touch of insanity,
if you want some zest to this stew.

Now, Once Upon A Time,
you tried this meal,
and Happily Ever After,
was certainly not how you feel.

I’m afraid that if we keep eating,
then we’ll all be dead soon.
Because what we’ve made is poison,
and hope is our spoon.

So now it’s your choice,
eat up, or start again.
I’d suggest starting over,
cause if you don’t it’s The End.

love comes to us in many forms
and oftentimes
we question if it even exists
this thing of fairytales
but all I know
is that when I first saw her
time stopped
and the world became brighter
and I would question no longer

I wave my decorated stick
I push the button to my screwdriver
I imagine myself going on great adventures

I bury my nose deeper into the book
Watching the tale in my head
I laugh
I cry
I smile
All with them
I feel the same pain

I see myself on a pirate ship
Back to back with my captain
Sword in my hand while I fight off raiders of the sea

I feel the wind in my hair when I'm on a terrace
A flowy night gown and a tiara
Are the only people to hear the declaration of love

I memorize each page,
I remember each character.
I live and die
My heart breaks for the heart broken

But then I am pulled away
Back to school
Back to my mundane life
Dreaming of tales I can never live

Letter to Cinderella (and her Texas Fairytales)

~for EJ Love~


now lookee here, girl,
slow down pardner,
blanket love-spells need to be addressed,
especially if a return requested back to
the great state of big ole Texas

as I am loved in Texas, I’m well aware
how hard it is to find love in wide open spaces,
more trucks and cows than people,
which is NYC in reverse,
both hard places in different ways
to make angelic fairies appear,
released intact from busted soap bubbles

so here’s my idée fixe,
to the reading, less,
to the writing, more,
command thyself to march towards
the seventeenths poem, and many more
to arrive at the promised
hallelujah

take the formless visions, potions,
drifting in you, figure them into words,
shaped with passion and cunning, twitching in
a creme of teasing, a dollop of wanting,
a whimsy, sense of humor, stir with another’s pinky finger,
bigger than the ineffable lone star of lonely,
an eye tear for flavor, a salty secreted ingredient,
that needs, requires another’s hand to wipe away

and a flashing neon sign:
Texas Red Amber,  Chops, and
real good loving desired!

only good loving people,
steady on their feet,
need apply, poets favored,
but a certain kind of cowboy,
ok as well

what be my expertises in matters these,
why I am your chastened, mean no more,
sweet sister who see your spells flying by,
who writes to you with newly learned humility