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Not Another Fairytale

picture taken by the author

Not Another Fairytale

Writing it down

makes it real.

It makes it more than just an idea,

a thought,

an emotion.

 

In trying to put it into words

it’s attached with meaning.

Your fingers turn into wands,

performing the spell of

transforming the

consciously kept unconscious

into consciousness.

 

There’s no wrapping it up,

no brushing it off,

no rug to sweep it under.

 

The plain truth is there,

right in front of you,

in black and white

or whatever colour you fancy your pen and paper in.

 

And it’s terrifying,

yet liberating.

It’s an act of bravery.

After all,

you’re facing your dearest friend,

yourself,

the one you’re trying to protect the most.

 

But deep down you know

you’ve got to hear these words,

even if they hurt,

because keeping them inside

hurts more.

 

It suffocates you from within,

feeds off your self-confidence,

until there’s nothing left,

only regrets.

 

That you hadn’t had the pep talk earlier,

that you stayed

and kept hoping for a happier ending

and held tight to the illusion.

 

But this is no fantastic romance,

there’s no fairy godmother,

no time traveling,

no potion to take.

 

All these lost endings,

these “not so happily ever after”s –

Where do they go?

Where are they hidden?

Is there a secret lost and found section

in the library of wrecked fairy tales

that stores all the closures

I’m seeking

but never seem to find.

 

And the mirror, mirror on the wall tells me

that I’ve changed.

And my skin feels different,

tighter, smoother.

And my soul feels like it’s drifting

through the pages

in the other fairly tale space.

It feels heavier,

but lighter,

now that I’ve written it all down.

 

The spell has worked its magic,

the truth lies plain in front of me.

 

So you my not so Charming Prince

keep walking down the road of premature ignorance

while I’ve got courage and grace enough

to face my demons.

 

I won’t be here

when you’re done pondering.

No won’t be waiting

for you to stop spinning.

 

My life depends on

nobody’s happiness

other than mine.

 

This is my choice.

This is my voice.

This is my mess.

 

And I’m going to put the pieces

back together,

just like I did before.

Put them in the right boxes,

store them on the highest shelf

where I can’t reach them

and they won’t bother me anymore.

 

Cause I wanted you to be brave

and I wanted to stop being afraid

of saying yes

and instead take a risk.

 

Cause what hurts is knowing

that I could have fallen for you.

I could have been the one

whose foot would have fit the glass slipper,

the one sitting in the high tower

or asleep for most of their life

waiting for true love’s kiss

to open their eyes.

 

What hurts is knowing

that you refused to be

my fairytale,

my happy ending

and instead became a ghost

when I don’t even like horror stories.

 

How could I fall for your castle out of clouds and hot smoke?

You took me down a slippery slope.

You didn’t let me in

only showed me what was plain to the eye.

Oh hey, it’s me, Mr Nice Guy.

 

Well nice guys can be bad boys too.

They just know how to act the way you want them to.

 

But once the cards are dealt

and the joker has bared his wide smile

your nice guy façade

is burning holes into the castle in the sky.

 

Now you can watch me from the side line

while I stride down Main Street,

take a spot in the waiting line

because someone else now sees

what I’ve known for so long

but been afraid to admit:

 

I’m Wonder Woman.

 

Not a fairy tale princess.

 

Disguised as a nerd in glasses

you’ve got to earn my trust

before I show you what’s behind my spectacles.

 

But once you know,

I promise,

you’ll never want to let me go.

 

-Maria

Maria was listening to “Promise” by Ben Howard while writing this piece.

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05/01/2019 mariajuko

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London Article (think of catchy title later) → ← TOO BIG

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