Once Upon a New Age

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful girl.

That's the way the stories all start, right?

Stuffed with enough sunshine to make you hurl.

But maybe just once, I want her called bright-

not beautiful, not delicate, not pretty-

I want her known for something more than her sight.

Tell me she's strong, she's smart, she's gritty.

Tell me Cindy wanted to dance and get laid.

Tell me Snow decided to find work where she'd get paid.

Tell me these childhood heroes are more than a face.

Tell me there's more to a girl's life than just her grace.

So why not rewrite the story?

Look past the princes; let's give the girls some glory.

Cinderella asked for a night out and a dress.

Her midnight drunk self decided to hell with the stress;

She ran away and found a career:

worked from maid to manager to rich enough to volunteer

at Belle's program for at-risk youth.

They worked together to push the children towards truth.

Reading and talking and working through issues,

’til the kids were just fine and handing them tissues,

rolling their eyes and telling the women “Chill, it's just a college graduation."

One of those graduates had actually just released a publication

of her thesis on the importance of body language in communication. 

That's right, you guessed it: Ariel was a writer.

And she wanted to show the world the story inside her.

On the other side of the world,

Jasmine's new life had unfurled.

She was working as a civil rights lawyer,

fighting against child marriage,

and within a few years, much to the surprise of her employer,

had somehow managed to disparage

every parent who looked at their daughters as objects to sell,

changing their views without lifting her voice to a yell.

Meanwhile, another princess had watched Jasmine's TedTalk.

Mulan was learning it was okay to be a jock.

It didn't make her less of a woman and who really cared about the stereotypes?

Every woman had a different way of earning her tiger stripes.

Mulan was busy providing for her family and pursuing her dream.

Those two jobs didn't leave too much time to cook and clean.

Her pen pal, Aurora, could often relate through her letters

but it wasn't easy for her to write back, her twins were bed-wetters.

And trying to juggle the lessons and bills and household chores,

didn’t really leave too much time to pour

her feelings out on a piece of paper.

Luckily, Philip was an expert cook.

They split duties in their little nook.

The stories could go on forever.

Just look what happens when women aren't tethered

to the copy paste story of their mothers and their mothers and mothers before them.

Because it's about more than the princes in the end;

It's about the difference we make on this earth.

It's about women knowing their worth.

It's about teaching girls to look for a happily ever after

in whatever shape that may take.

So, princesses, let's give our stories a shake.

After all, it's about hitting glass ceilings and bandaging each other's cuts as they shatter.

Please give the old tales my kindest regards.

I'll see you all way up above the glass shards.