Rotten Apples

Classic fairytales are like garbage


They reek of rotten apples


Pungently infiltrating the nostrils


Like soldiers with glass slippers instead of boots


I never liked them


I could not relate


I did not find three princesses and only one prince charming that appealing


I loved my mother


Like the white rabbit racing against insecurity


Princes and I never really had time for each other


But once upon a time


While walking aimlessly through repetitive Disney movies and mainstream romance


I heard her


Yes, I said “her”...


I heard her every wispy breath


Singing like an angel amongst birds like the stories said she would


Listening not with my ears


But with the little hairs that stood up on my arms


Every time the wet words she sang hit my neck


She was my very own princess


Away in a castle all her own with crappy cell phone service


So we would use facebook messenger


She had long blonde hair in addition to her leather jacket and


skeleton tattoo


But I was no Flinn Rider


I was Tiana wishing for my Evangeline


Instead of a tower we were trapped in a closet


I knew when I saw her she did not need saving


She was a Scorpio


A woman all her own


A queer queen


She would never decay or grow pungent


Far from the smell of rotting fruit


Her lips tasted like hard candy but were as soft as velvet


As intelligent as Belle and as freezing cold as Elsa


she could fight her own battles


Instead of running shoeless she lived in the midnight hour


Compared to her I was like a fragile flower


Pure in my own right but deadly if ingested




We vanquished the villains that said we could not be together


And lived happily ever after


The end.



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