"we might live like never before
when there's nothing to give,
well how can we ask for more?
we might make love in some sacred place,
the look on your face is delicate.
so, why'd you fill my sorrow,
with the words you've borrowed,
from the only place that you've known?
and why'd you sing hallelujah,
if it means nothing to you?"
another page is ripped away from a book i clung to for far too long,
a fairytale story of a girl who had neverending quests to fulfill;
a string of dragons to slay for everyone who crossed her path,
and still the demands of being a princess beckoning;
to be fair, true, and vulnerable to love's twisting illusions,
with blood still dripping from her trying-to-hide hands.
but how can one be both savior and damsel in distress?
daisy-chains braided into my hair as a child were not the uniform of a lifetime,
even though i think i clung to the significance of those wispy, wild flowers,
enough to paint them into my skin around a name not truly my own.
perhaps they were my attempts to re-write the plot twists,
or at least give this girl a different kind of ending.