Rotten Apples

Classic fairytales are like garbage

 

They reek of rotten apples

 

Pungently infiltrating the nostrils

 

Like soldiers with glass slippers instead of boots

 

I never liked them

 

I could not relate

 

I did not find three princesses and only one prince charming that appealing

 

I loved my mother

 

Like the white rabbit racing against insecurity

 

Princes and I never really had time for each other

 

But once upon a time

 

While walking aimlessly through repetitive Disney movies and mainstream romance

 

I heard her

 

Yes, I said “her”...

 

I heard her every wispy breath

 

Singing like an angel amongst birds like the stories said she would

 

Listening not with my ears

 

But with the little hairs that stood up on my arms

 

Every time the wet words she sang hit my neck

 

She was my very own princess

 

Away in a castle all her own with crappy cell phone service

 

So we would use facebook messenger

 

She had long blonde hair in addition to her leather jacket and

 

skeleton tattoo

 

But I was no Flinn Rider

 

I was Tiana wishing for my Evangeline

 

Instead of a tower we were trapped in a closet

 

I knew when I saw her she did not need saving

 

She was a Scorpio

 

A woman all her own

 

A queer queen

 

She would never decay or grow pungent

 

Far from the smell of rotting fruit

 

Her lips tasted like hard candy but were as soft as velvet

 

As intelligent as Belle and as freezing cold as Elsa

 

she could fight her own battles

 

Instead of running shoeless she lived in the midnight hour

 

Compared to her I was like a fragile flower

 

Pure in my own right but deadly if ingested

 

Unashamed

 

We vanquished the villains that said we could not be together

 

And lived happily ever after

 

The end.

 

 

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