Happy Endings

When I remember the fairytales, read to me as treats..
I remember the scary bits, big bad wolf, three little piggies, squeeking in terror…, what big teeth you’ve got..
Mirror Mirror On The Wall, and they are all mixed up..
I chose to forget the pat happy endings: the Prince’s kiss, resting uncomfortably on my imagination, my memory forces him and his gallantry to get lost in the woods…
And I wished, out of wickedness, that Rapunzel had short cropped hair…
Tonight, my imagination gallops across moors wishing, she didn’t have to conjure up a happy ending…
Somewhere hanging tentatively on the edge of our pain, there must be something that edges close to happiness, and at least enters into love, and splashes in those fairytale words, demanding some strength out of this pain…
Sometimes we will ride on the crest of that powerful pain, and ease each other onto soft sand, our love rounding the hard edges of our downs into ups…
Whilst we lie on this solid bed, we make our own stories…

(Jackie Kay’s on The Feminist Review)


About iconoclasticme

sophisticated early 20s girl (?), with much shitty crisis that makes her so...different. and even though she might not get through it well i

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