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I am a princess in a fairy tale.
Not the fairy tales your parents read to you at bedtime; oh no.
In my chapters, there is war with no champion.
My imprisonment is mind, body, and soul draining.
I pricked my heart on a ring as sharp as a spindle needle and now I fear I'll never wake up.
The wolf stole my basket with my hope, sanity, and security tucked neatly inside. I was beaten and left in a ditch. When I came across him again in the woods he limped toward me, pale and sick, and asked me to nurture him back to health.
I watched as my glass slippers fell out of my hand and shattered into a million dazzling shards before I even had the chance to put them on my feet.
I felt the pea underneath all those mattresses. That nagging poke in your back that something is wrong. I dethroned myself from that high perch to flick the pea into oblivion just to watch it turn to a bleeding heart in my palm and in that moment I knew;
I knew how Ariel felt when her voice was ripped from her throat because I haven't been able to speak since.
Will someone give my fairy godmother a call? I think she's heard me cry for so long that she hits decline, disregarding me like a telemarketer or annoying relative who makes you groan when they show up on your caller I.D.
I need someone to vouch for me that I'm still worth saving. Maybe then they can convince me of it, too.