My Poem, tis all.
She came home late thursday night
perfumed with a hint of nicotine and denial
that left a bitter sweet aftertaste of misery
and a sense of "but what about Happily ever after?"
Tossing her tangled crisp to the touch mane
(sentenced to death by lightening and highlights)
she presses herself against her full length reflection
taking note of everything she wished would change.
If only, she cried against the cold mirror
her breath reeking of dinners' many regrets,
fogging up her tear streaked mask of "flawless skin!"
that had once been more than a bottled instant mistake.
If only Prince Charming would save her from
his stand-ins: Prince Charming When He Wants Something,
and Prince Why Do You Make Me Have To Hit You?
if only her Prince could manage to ask directions.
If Only, she shrieked helplessly against the glass as she
pounded her manicured fist against her mocking twin.
her periwinkle camisole, constraining her shaking body,
glistened with her not so high fashion blood just as if to taunt
that she was still hideous and worthless, despite it all.