Raised in kind she lost her mind and believed that she should please
But finding others already there she lost her warm and sunny cheer
And searched her skills and offered thrills for an avenue of release
She clung to her her wounded heart as if to staunch the pain
But nothing seemed to bring relief, she’s off the edge again.
She yearned for a loving gesture and to hold her close
But he was asleep and soundly snoring
And she was sad and hurt with longing
For affection, genuine attention
She knew it was ‘cause she’s boring
and growing ever more morose.
She is the cautionary tale of a life wasted in waiting,
while wrapped up tight and dark in mirror hating,
For her Prince to rescue
For her world to imbue
Her heart with solace delicately laced
Anticipating his spout on her lip or a morphine drip
where he knows she will sip at his love drops forever like a starving dog, like his starving dog,
His bitch ever in heat
because she knows she is just a pet, a trinket, a toy, a distraction
Raped by fear and avoidance of failure and self extraction
Where dreams lay broken, forgotten, intimately abandoned
Like the child inside.
- Hopefawn Levenson
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