So maybe there were never 7 and a pretty girl.


Just one.

Just her.

And they were all pieces of her mind

Her heart.


She found talking to them each separately was better.


She started cleaning up after them,

And forgot about herself.

Tried to take a rest

But they kept making bigger messes.

After sneaking away from the woman who despised her,

All she could do was hide out in her own head

Tried to mend the bones she had broken

But they were not even bones?

Then Snow decided to eat the apple

Thought maybe it would make all of them go away

Took it graciously and swallowed.

Then the boy woke her up

And for a moment she thought she was fixed.

But no

There were still 8 of them

Just now,

there was a prince to shake his head at the wreckage,

And call her a fool.


This poem is about: 
Our world
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