Childhood

It is old,
this place is full of stories untold
of daring knights and wicked queens
that all end with a princess, pristine.

It is creepy,
those stories of spelled girls, sleepy.
And those who war and fight
to wake a lady from a forced night.

They are ours,
these tails of mages and pow’rs,
of poisoned apples and too much trust,
all under-toned with an abstract lust.

Dream of dreams,
sealing the world in by close seams
and now reality does not mix well
with these stories our parents did tell.

They are lies
that surpass all time as it flies.
This fairytale is one that I cannot embrace
for the mask is wrong; it won’t fit my face.