I remember story timeBeing my favorite part of the dayWhen mom and dad would tell me storiesOf far off places Dashing knightsBeautiful princessesAnd a happily ever after My favorite fairytale was sleeping beautyA young princess gets cursedFalls into an endless sleepAnd can only be saved by a princeAnd his true loves kiss. Ultimately, love conquers all and Evil is subduedAnd the princess gets her happily ever after What I’ve learned thus farIf I’ve learned anything from fairytalesIs that they’re the pretty parts of horrific talesBecause we choose to idolize The red, red roseAnd ignore the thorns In the original sleeping beauty It was a prophesy rather than a curseThe princess falls into a deep sleepAnd when a king comes to save herHe “gathers the first fruits of love”With her unconscious bodyAnd she’s left with twins nine months later Another favorite story Was Hansel and GretelA story of two children who get lostAnd end up in a house made of candyFacing a perilous fight against a wicked witchOnly to come out triumphantAnd live happily ever after But what no one ever told you Was that the reason that those kids Were in the forest in the first placeWas because a wifePersuaded a husbandTo leave those kids in the woodsIn hopes that they would starve to death.  In the story of mulanA couragous young womanTakes her fathers place in the militaryDressed as a man Defeats the HunsAnd returns home to marry her true loveAnd reunite with her family But in the original, When Mulan returns homeShe finds out her father has diedHer mother remarried, And the Khan calling her to be a mistressDistraught, She kills herselfAnd the rest is history Because men see womenAnd cant fight the “first fruits of love”With their unconscious bodiesAnd mothers and fathersLeave their children With little regard as to what happens to themAnd people kill themselvesBecause sometimes the pressure and eventsOverwhelm them into oblivion All we see is the rose, When we need to see the thorns We choose to ignore the problemAnd it only grows We sensor out any painAny uncomfort that we may feelAnd ignore the problem Even though these might just be fairytalesThat were read to me as a childThese kinds of stories Are not stories at allBut rather events that happenEvery minuteOf every day Of every year Because i guaranteeAt this momentSome girl is getting raped. some child is being abandonedsome soul is killing themselvesBut we only see what we want to see.  All we see is the rose, And we don’t really care until its us That bleed from the thorns