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I eyed an image today
of a young girl
with innocent eyes
her dreams and desires hidden
deep beneath a forced smile.
Did she have the right to dream such she often wondered?
Of her own charming prince
decked out in armour upon a Nobel steed?
Or the Godmother who would grant wishes
for nothing if to turn
a disheveled being into someone worthy
of making a grand entry,
to dance till the moon rises high
and clocks strikes twelve times.
But instead, she’d wonder
was it right for her to be
locked up in a tower away from the world
like poor old Rupanzle
never knowing she was part of something big?
Was she who suffered bullies
ever meant to live
ever meant to dream big
for a knight in armour to barge in
and whisk her away from these bad dreams?
Wasn’t she just as beautiful,
just as worthy
of a fairytale prince?
After all, the ball invited all maidens,
not just the beauties
as seen on books and history?