The Wrong Fairytale
Behind each ornate door
a princess waits
to hear the words
that set her free.
As you pass along
the shadowed corridors
dragging your chains
voices call your name
rising and falling like the sea.
Born to the tidal pull of this task
you studied the ritual;
rehearsed the aftermath.
While they perfected themselves:
brushed their hair
practised their songs
waiting for this day.
Now desire prowls on sharpened claws,
but in your mouth
the magic words are wrong.
The doors stay shut.
Step out into sunlight
to the skin tightening kiss
of the cold sea air.
You’ll count the pebbles on the beach
before you understand
why your shackles fell away.
Because sometimes you think you're in one story and you know the rules, discover you're not, and realise the discovery is painful but liberating?
This poem was first published in Rough Spun to Close Weave. Copies of the book are available from the shop at www.liamguilar.com
