Ivory Tower Walls

What makes a princess a princess?

Is it her smarts? Or her compassion? Her strong will? Or maybe it’s the way she sings that beckons forest creatures to her whim and call?

All princesses are different, but so are their stories. And that one thing they always seem to share is beauty.

If you open a book of fairy tales, you will find all their great stories.

Snow White and her flawless skin, the Little Mermaid and her lifeguard legs, Cinderella and her Louis Vuitton footwear, the list goes on.

And me? Well I’m Rapunzel.

But instead of being trapped in a tower by some evil witch

I’m the one trapping myself.

Trapping myself with visions of hair that isn’t there, and the eating thoughts of others’ snickers and stares

Thoughts of “What curse has been put on her?” or that “A princess should be beautiful.”

Fears that all the handsome princes don’t see enough hair to climb into my tower and take me away from this wicked place

Where ivory tower walls are made from self loathing and frustration. Built with the sole purpose to keep a cursed princess in, and all the beautiful people out.

And the true curse is the dread of what others think, as well as self expectations that cannot be reached because I believe the magic mirror doesn’t judge me as fair at all.

But how could a magic mirror judge beauty on a princess who sees looking into a mirror as her biggest battle?


There is no evil witch who casted an evil spell

Only a princess with the dark magic of her own mind. Who casted a curse upon herself.

But then I remember with magic spells come counter spells

I remember that I don’t need a prince to call my name to let my hair down, and let him climb to the very top of my insecurity, just to tell me I’m beautiful

And whisk me away, making me forget the place that made me who I am

I don’t need a beauty spell, or a love potion. Or any incantation or charm at all.

I have enough magic inside of me to change the entire rest of the story.

Not rewrite it, but change the ending.

Because the pages from this very spot will no longer be numbered.

My story will be as long as short as I choose, and at this moment there is no end in sight.

Not even Hans Christian Anderson, or the Brothers Grimm, could write a fairy tale like mine.

Because the one thing they never had, was a princess that could save herself.

And that’s when I will shatter the mirror. Letting the sound of dancing glass that hits the floor, set me free.

That’s when I realize, that one day, on a page far from the one we are on.

There will be a queen standing tall. Surrounded by a court of those who saw beneath her curse. And her royal crown will sit upon her head of hair as long or as short as she pleases.

And it will be decreed and rejoiced throughout the land.

That the curse has been lifted.

Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 



I have trich too, and I love this poem. You go, girl!

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