Sixteen years of finding the key.
The roads get longer and wider, and the paths are unfamiliar.
Green specks scan pages and pages and we search for someone to become.
Maybe the princess who needs a knight, or the queen who knows her worth?
Perhaps I am the scared lambs waiting to be slaughtered?
Or the steak knife forcing its way through the raw flesh?
The television flickers and my innocent eyes watch the shame dig out of their grave.
Sticky fingers collect the leftover popcorn as I race back into my bed.
Would she notice the missing pieces?
He’d find something to blame me for.
The carpet was dirty.
But so was I.
That’s why I was there. Laying in my purple pajamas and shivering to the core. The kitchen floor was rough against my small body. The darkness seemed to spread in every direction. I was scared. But I couldn’t admit that. I had to be the princess who picked up the sword. But my small hands searched on the floor for something sharp. Nothing appeared.