Wake up, Cinderella
Sleeping Beauty, White as Snow,
Cinderella and around we go,
Threads sewn into reality.
Why do we make stories about virtue,
If the most enchanting lyrics are danced into the daylight?
Beautiful women called stunning through the weaving block of history,
Myths breathed into life onto stages
Timelessly, we resurrect Sleeping Beauty.
These women, these fabled heroines,
You will see them as you see yourself,
That much is certain.
Will others see you as they see Snow White?
Therein we find the question.
We whittle their bravery into a plot smaller than dress up outfits and botched makeup
And we fight to forget to wake up.
Our living ladies had their fair share of the spot light, I’m sure,
Who could refuse sex?
After some time, it whittles down to who you ask,
Is a Nymph the one you can blame?
Could the Truth be still broad if we call her a Broad?
One day maybe.
I hope that she would dissipate and leave the squabbles to the story books
Someone has got to be less childish.
A bitter verdict come to repave her past
Was Eve a Nymph then?
That’s what I thought.
We must choose. Either they are helpless or they were poorly told,
Their stories were not their own, after all.
We condemn or celebrate each woman based on who we believe they are,
The fairest of them all is the reflection that reels inside us.
Flipping the script never did make you any friends, girl
That’s for sure.
Leave the pen,
And live your story that breathes.