fairytales born from sand
you know, I've played the graceful warrior,
time and time again.
only to be reduced to fallen ashes,
and the whispers of my pen.
but as the clock slowly ticks away,
and I feel it fast within my heart,
we're playing on the chessboard of life,
but I long to have a different part.
maybe this time, I'll get to be the one,
and things will finally work out.
I won't be fighting until my hands turn blue,
and my heart won't feel like a drought.
Today, I put my mask on, but tonight-
tonight, as the sun rapidly falls,
I'll watch as my eyes slip into longing,
listening to my heart's lonely calls.
I wonder how it must feel,
to be just the princess in the castle.
because even when I am her,
I can never leave behind the hassle.
can I find a piece of this complex world?
that'll fit into my painted curves.
to remind me that I belonged once before.
bleeding electricity into my nerves.
will I ever get the sand out of my lungs?
before the time runs out.
or should I break the glass, to feel the air,
is that what life is about?
I guess I don't want to have to break the glass,
I wish the sand wasn't there at all,
for the obstacles, they keep coming,
but I won't read the writing on the wall.
So I see my eyes, the way they painfully slip,
and I falter, dolefully, on my exhale.
Is it too much? I softly whisper,
To only myself: "I wish I had the fairytale”