i wake up to pale sunlight
filtering through my pink curtains
staining my eyelids a sleepy rose
my fingers wander to my bed frame
smooth and white, embellished with seashells
in shades of white & pink & lavender
i could've been a princess
sleeping under a blushing sea
waiting for my handmaiden
to drift in & ring
my silver wake up bell.

but does the princess ever feel
at home in an ocean of the dirty poor;
watery-eyed and wanting
barefoot and garbed in tattered rags
that belonged to four siblings before them?
no, i think not.
her sky-blue glass slippers
are encrusted with blood & spit
& she feels their acid-green gaze
burn holes into the back of her pretty head
her golden, corkscrew curls being singed
with hatred.

the people are afraid of her
(afraid of money)
(afraid of power)
& even if she orchestrates a storm of blessings
a flick of a thin wrist to rain coins upon the needy
she is not loved.

people are loved in dark places
that sharpen their dark parts
a lover's gaze could ruin a city
a mother's love could warm a nation
but any loyalty to a leader is not love
as much as it is a twisted, psychological
method of
survival.

the princess will wring her white hands
and lament to her pristine, silver-framed mirror
of how she belonged to nothing
& no one
& that was her greatest regret
because love was a feeling that started wars
& ended them
but a crown?
a crown is just a pile of metal.

i won two fish
with blue & gold scales
at a carnival
i named one "love" & the other "fear"
& by the next morning
they had
killed
each
other.