Pauper Prince

Just a poem for those who often look for princes in paupers

He asks why birds with clipped wings keep flying in through his window.

How broken women find him

Princesses with blood soaked gowns

 and the glass of their once pretty pumps

Embedded into the soles of their feet,

Limping and leaving a mess of blood to your doorway

Women who have danced on knives to find him

I want to say “we mistook you for a knight, a prince.

It was our mistake you see.

We thought your heart would be big enough to shelter us too

Not forever, but just until our soles had healed

 And our dresses had been thoroughly washed

We mistook your shack for a fortress

Something to keep the armies out until we can fight again.

But you have no time to waste playing prince

To princesses with no titles, no names,

your doorway is lined with the bones of many such princesses

Pushed out head first

To make room for better whole women whose gowns are white

as rain, with glass pumps intact. “

 

Author's Note

I don't know. This poem felt awkward. I would like to do more with it at a later date.