• Vol. 06
  • Chapter 02
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Cinderella’s Story

I lost my head this morning,
choosing a ruffled black painted daisy instead,
my face as blank as its center core;
it seemed simple enough,
to emulate, simulate, - okay, admittedly,
I stole the moon's face;
Her's was so full, conceited in time,
smirking, and this is
camouflage, for a new skin.

The wolves howled yes,
their throating growls songs of encouragement,
the choral push to the edge,
telling me it was all okay.
As a matter of fact, She had turned her back to me,
for the sorrow of weeping red tears,
shoulders silently shaking with her quiet sobs;
this was Her plea bargain.


Cinderella’s Story

She told me she had neither strength
nor will left, wished to costume herself,
don gold laced Toreador pants perhaps,
or a mystical Chinese robe, delicately embroidered
with the ancient silk songs,
of a crane, the hieroglyphs
few could decipher;
this would satisfy her, She said,
her appetite for destruction,
always pushing, pulling, the tides
rolling in lapping lullabies, and she missed
walking in the sun -
so would I mind?

I realized her selfishness
mirrored my own,
so what could I do but steal
a glimpse of the weight of a goddess,
wrap myself in black and silver,
dash vermilion across my hips,
and step into her glass boot-slippers,
even if but for a short while.