Her lips were red apples,

“Don’t trust lust!”

They called her a hag

Told me she had driven me mad!

“Kiss me” she said

And then I dropped dead

Because I realised my story was wrong,

Erased the ending they taught belonged

And then all I had to do was admit!

Write into the story and say:

actually everyone I am g-

 

“She’s sick, she’s just sick!”

“She needs a doctor, a cure!”

“She can’t be conscious, she must be in a dream!”

“Stop her or she won’t go to heaven!”

“How is this happening, she’s not had one man but seven!”

 

Indeed, no matter the 7 notches on my bed post, the 7 men in my life

Something, something just wasn’t right

But no matter my voice, I was written into the pages as asleep – early till late

Whilst the patriarchy around me decided my fate.

“All she needs is just one perfect heterosexual kiss,

A kiss, yes a kiss, from a royal dick!”

 

And so the prince came on his horse to elevate me from being this whore

And without knowing his name or his persona I was to be apparently cured,

Destined to love what I should: holy matrimony and motherhood

But on seeing me the prince grimaced and guffawed

It is said he ran off with a dwarf!

 

No one returned to the castle!

No one took the reign!

It seems we all went wild

Yet became completely sane.

No one restricted, no consensus to stoop or to bend!

That was my real story, that was ‘The End’.