The hair of a princess is special they said,
So best keep it perfect on your head.
With long golden locks,
Kept to the t
In order not to stir up controversy.

But one day one of the little princesses strayed away,
Gathering courage to do things a different way.
She stole up the metal and broke all the mirrors,
Using the fire inside to craft a contraption
Reminiscent of shears.

She was an animal, not like a lamb,
Whose wool would be stolen in order to please
Until they would throw it away,
Once it was tattered and worn.

No, nothing like a lamb.
Wild and free was she,
Like the wolf that sat outside her window peering in,
As the moon illuminated its figure,
Making it appear as a wonder of the world.

Her iridescent hand peeled her hair away from her back and grasped it in her palm.
The memories stored in her locks were precious nonetheless,
As they made her her.
But they were also a powerful weight,
That made her back ache,
Causing a noticeable arch overtime.

So as she watched her locks fall to the floor she knew it to be true,
She was no longer just a princess,
She was a warrior too.