The funny thing about a fairytale is
that there is only one princess—
only one or two heroes reaping the spoils
and life pretty much ***** for the rest.
As time has made me privy to this phenomenon,
I think that the pessimists must be wrong:
pointing out the falsehoods in the fantasies
when life has been a fairytale all along.
The problem doesn't lie in the fanciful plot,
or the neat and tidy "happily ever after”—
but rather in our assumptions that we are the protagonists
when there are so many other characters whose live's are disasters.
And truly the stories of the villains or helpers,
though exaggerated in their own right,
ring of far more truth and parallels
than the lead's perilous plight.
For I am no breathtaking beauty.
Won't stop some prince in his tracks.
I can't dance, I don't clean, my food is no good,
and when I sing my voice gargles and cracks.
I often can't find a shoe that will fit
for my toes are too long, or perhaps it's my heel.
So I can't identify with the hero written
because I have no idea how that feels.
It seems that when I went to audition,
though my intent was for the part of the lead,
the director thought I was joking
and then casted me as the Evil Queen.
For I'm afraid that I more closely mimic
An ugly stepsister or morally unsound witch—
so is it any wonder, then,
that life turned out to be a *****?
And I know—yes, I know—that these stories are just that:
fictional weavings of a life never lived,
spoon fed to children to teach them some lesson,
their intent, I’m sure, not to misgive.
But at some point the stories become more than just stories;
they are born from us and so us they do bear.
And you and I and us and them and this
is a reflection of what's written there.
And if this is so, which I argue it is,
then the fairytales are very true indeed.
And so, too, the happy endings, hero's journey,
villains and monsters and thieves.
Every story is an entire world,
and every world becomes are own.
And there simply isn't enough room for us all
to fall in love and call a castle home.
Someone has to be the villain.
Someone the foil. Someone the friend.
Someone the helper and someone the lover.
Someone that person that meets an untimely end.
But someone gets to be that princess.
Someone gets that "happily ever after."
One in a story forges ahead
with a chipper "the end" in the final chapter.
And to some, perhaps, this is good enough?
A small glimmer of hope that helps them to sleep.
Because if one it could be then perchance it is thee!
But the standards of entry are steep.
I already know that I’ll never qualify:
I don't measure up to the criteria offered.
As mentioned before, I'm not one to adore,
and so it seems I'm destined to remain a pauper.
But I won't sit back and just be a side character
(for the part of the lead I'm deemed unfit).
I refuse to bow down to the ideals that abound—
And if that makes me the villain? So be it.
I will wield my wicked power.
Set a curse across the land.
Have a vendetta against our hero
Because for their antics I will not stand.
And I know that this means that I'm destined to lose—
The villain rarely survives (except for a sequel).
And the protagonist will tell my story
And make my actions and choices seem evil.
Perhaps my ordeal will seem useless
since the morals of the winner will persist.
But just because it is a fight I cannot win,
Does not mean I shouldn't resist.
Because life is fairytale, sure,
but "happily ever afters" don't last as long as the name implies.
There are too many losers, too many misfits,
that the values of the protagonist leave behind.
So in this story I might be the bad guy.
But that's based on someone else's word.
And stories can change, lenses be rearranged,
and I'll fight until my story's heard.