i wake up to pale sunlight
filtering through my pink curtains
staining my eyelids a sleepy rose
my fingers wander to my bed frame
smooth and white, embellished with seashells
in shades of white & pink & lavender
i could've been a princess
sleeping under a blushing sea
waiting for my handmaiden
to drift in & ring
my silver wake up bell.
but does the princess ever feel
at home in an ocean of the dirty poor;
watery-eyed and wanting
barefoot and garbed in tattered rags
that belonged to four siblings before them?
no, i think not.
her sky-blue glass slippers
are encrusted with blood & spit
& she feels their acid-green gaze
burn holes into the back of her pretty head
her golden, corkscrew curls being singed
the people are afraid of her
(afraid of money)
(afraid of power)
& even if she orchestrates a storm of blessings
a flick of a thin wrist to rain coins upon the needy
she is not loved.
people are loved in dark places
that sharpen their dark parts
a lover's gaze could ruin a city
a mother's love could warm a nation
but any loyalty to a leader is not love
as much as it is a twisted, psychological
the princess will wring her white hands
and lament to her pristine, silver-framed mirror
of how she belonged to nothing
& no one
& that was her greatest regret
because love was a feeling that started wars
& ended them
but a crown?
a crown is just a pile of metal.
i won two fish
with blue & gold scales
at a carnival
i named one "love" & the other "fear"
& by the next morning