Her wrists tell a story

of a damsel in distress.

A princess with her head held high

and tears in her dress.

All the frogs she’s kissed

in hopes of finding the one,

leaves her heart broken.

The blade has won.

She shuts herself in the tower

away from everyone else.

She rolls down her sleeves,

A barrier between truth and stealth.

She can be alone.

Alone is the worst place to be

for a girl haunted by memories.

Temptations come faster,

options become less.

When you’re alone,

No one knows you’re depressed.

Maybe we should stop teaching girls

That fairytales do come true.

Because there are no princesses.

Just girls who make it through.