Everyone always tells the stories of heroes,
Those who rise against the odds and defeat impossibility,
But they are not the stories that keep her up at night,
She knows how they end. All the same, all morals align and evils suppressed.
She wanted a different version than these classics,
One that was real and painful and all consuming,
Yet, these stories seemed as old as time, some retold, and others rewritten.
She once prayed for a fairytale romance,
A prince to sweep her off her feet,
The rainbow to never fade from her skies;
What she got could hardly count as a fairytale,
More like a knock off, a cheap imitation of true love and a twisted path.
Where the prince was no gentleman, love was merely an idea
And no magic could save her from her fuck ups and distant heart.
But, the Grimm Brothers can’t trademark those fucked up fairytales from the grave,
So she latched onto her mistakes and pain and created something beautiful.
She rewrote her tales and didn’t shy from the ugly truth,
Gathering legends and parables and myths from past loves and heartbreaks,
And she spun them with threads of gold found at each of her lovers’ beds.
He was love and pain and fear and thrill all in one,
And for a heartbeat so in tune with hers,
She could have not imagined a more perfect villain.
The one person to challenge her in ways she never knew.
And her romantic heart rejoiced and sang,
While her twisted mind crawled its way back to the forefront,
For finally she had found her story that would continue to write itself,
Losing itself among the pages of her fucked up fairytale,
And the rest, was history of a tale as old as time.