She ripped the sashes

From her body

She tore at soul

Digged nails

In her skin

She pushed her fingers down

Her

Throat

Until she vomited blood

Fat bulging over

Nose jelly rolled

With hate

She pulled tighter on her corset

Till her spine cracked

Her lips

Tasted of vomit

And displeasure

Her cranium

A record

Player

Of

Sit up straight

Be like cinderella

And maybe a man will look at you like that her mother voice in a constant replay 

Her mama

Slapped her chin with a  wooded

Paddle

And

Cracked it 

Against

Her

Chin

Locking Her Jaw In Hate 

She Poured

 Her Soul 

In Watering Well

 By Her House 

She Took 

Her 

Hand

 And

 Ran Through The pail 

Of Her Tears Her 

Eyes Brim 

To

The

Tip

With

Tears

And

She

Dipped

Her hand

And in the water

And washed

The caked

Blood

From

Her

Chin

And.

A mysterious

Figure

Slender 

And

His

Aura

Royal

And

Enchanting

He

Approached

Her

Gently

And

Caressed

Her

Chin

In

His

Hand

And

Trapped

Her

In

his

Crystal

Blue

Eyes

And

Said

My

Dear

Why

Are

You

Crying? said the prince 

It is foolish why I cry

I must

Get

Back

To

My

Mother

She

Will

Be

Mad

I

Talked

To

A

Man

In

This

Form ,

What

Do

You

Mean

Said the prince

She

Walked

Toward

The

Light

Her

Hair

Beastly

Her

Skin

Raw

Naked

Her

Eyes

Hollowed

And

Homeless

And

Glittered

With

Burning

Embers

From

The

Fire

Her

Breast

Pale

And

Blushed

With

Every

Touch

His

Eyes

Made

With

Every glance

Her

Way

Her

Body

Curvaceous

Her

Legs

Striped

With

Cellulite

Her chin

spilt

But sealed up with dry blood

Her lips plump

And rosy

From the faint words

That touched her lips every time he talked

His mouth

Curved

Into

A frown

And

Then smiled

And whispered

Her name

To her lips

And her mouth

And

Body filled

With warmth

Her name may never

Be spoken

By princess

Or the prince

This name brought huge shame

Upon the kingdom

It always brought the prince his darkness

And the reason

He retreats into the library

For hours

He got up on horse

And whispered

Her name

All the way home

He smiled to himself

He was to hold a ball

And invite all the maidens in the land

And dance with her

And steal her away

And finish

What they started behind the palace

When they were teens

He remembered it like yesterday

Her scar on her thigh

From when her leg grazed

Against

The coat hook

When he had her pushed

Against the wall

Stealing kisses

In the cloak of night

And laying

In the soft hay

And covering her naked

Body

For any wondering

Eyes that could

Have scene such

A scene

Of chaotic lust

He called for ball to be held

Invitations were sent

Two years after the event between the girl and the prince

her name never slipped his mind no matter how hard he try to forget

Cinderella took up the chores in the house

You know the story

Her sashes got tore

The fairy godmother whips up her dress and she goes to the ball

I was so excited for the ball

Dressed in sashes

And little trinkets

Mother dressed

Me and my sister

In the  ugliest dresses

But I didn’t care because

Beauty is skin deep

And the prince would love me in no matter

What I wear

I hope he didn’t forget me

I said thinking to myself

We took our turns

When it came

To my turn 

He blinked

His

Eyes three

Times

And

Tilted his lips to mine 

His hands around my waist

Got tighter

He hands reached my zipper and he fiddles

With my dirty thoughts of devouring him in the music of my curves

And he whisper’s in

My ear, I can’t stop thinking about

You

Me too

We are twirled apart

The doors part cinderella on cue is trapped in the eye of my prince

He parts the crowd

And takes cinderella and makes her the queen of the dance floor

And he looks at my face and turns to disgust

And looks at my jelly roll curves and turns his head away

I look closer in his face

And I see sadness

Deep lungful sadness and self-hatred

I look what is looming over him

His father's disappointing look

At his son

Longing

For me

A woman like me

Not an anomaly of beauty

An average

He pushes me aside and travels the secret garden

And u know the rest of bunch of lies

But here's the truth

The real cinderella

Is me Drizella

I am cinderellas Ulgy step sister

Cinderella is lie

Another fairytale spunned

By the weavers

Of dreams

Every kid dreams of being a princess

But not everyone is born with a princess body

And this in end of the tale

Don´t tell anyone my name

I wasn´t always so ulgy........

If you asked me, if you really pushed me for an answer, I’d have to admit that I’m unsure as to the exact moment. That first step. The starting point of this quest. All I know is that my search has stretched across long and empty years. However, if I were to say it started a full, fat lifetime ago, that would also ring true.

It was my epic pursuit. My folly. The wide, wise and unwise world over, inbred town to smoky dirt streaked city, far flung country to verdant counties; both landlocked and sandy coastal, balmy and frosty hunts that spanned countless and seemingly infinite footfalls. A billion searching steps to save it. To save him.

And here it is, a mere handful of stumbling strides from my beaten track; quietly lying upon a filthy forest floor, causing my heart to spike and fall as I gaze down upon it. The whale sized shadows of scudding clouds flash moonlight and the image of branches' claws intermittently on it, a giant strobe light freeze framing it over and over as if it were a scene from a bygone age. Silver and ink. Light and dark. Then. Now.

And such a sorry and desolate sight. Just a tiny husk of papery skin over bloodless brittle bones, desiccated and forlorn as if a wind of change could scatter its remains throughout the lands. It is enveloped in a smudge of cloud, one that clings to its contours. It was something that had grown with importance; had taken on a gigantic image in my mind’s eye, only to seem pathetic now found. An errant shadow, a mistimed blink, and it could have remained undiscovered. Lost forever to rot and disappear from the memory of man and time, eaten by an animal from the shade.

Gently, with trembling fingers, I pluck aside the faded streamers that crisscross its sad shape and swipe away the red smudged corks, patina bottle tops and cigarette butts that frame it. I ease my hands softly beneath it and grit my pulsing breath before lifting it into my arms in a cloud of sour scent. Detritus flakes fall from the underside of the cadaver, shrivelled skin, sealable baggies smeared with white fingerprints, faded and perfumed letter scraps and faded sparkles. Barely registering as weight, the shell is cradled to my chest as I move my ear to its torso, daring to hope my quest was not fruitless.

A faint ticking in the ribcage informs me a life force still holds fort. Shocked, yet hopeful, my thoughts race away from me. It isn’t too late. I might still save this sad creature. Tentatively, I carry my delicate cargo to safety, out of the gloomy, night clad trees, to sunnier worlds and eras. The warmth of sunlight and sounds of nature stirs in this creature the briefest of movements. And then, I watch agape as eyes tremble away a surrendering layer of skin that open, slowly, to reveal blank, blind eyes peering through the smirch that still contains it. It shudders as if filled with fear, yet remains in my hold.

Unseeing, the eyes fall away from me as a black tear wells up in the corners of each dry orb, only to moisten upon a few slow blinks. They swivel round and now have a pupil that I watch focus upon me.

‘Who are you?’ I implore. My reply, simply more blinks, sharpening the gaze that holds me.

Cracked and dusty lips open as if for the first time in all eternity and its dry mouth gulps greedy air, like a free diver emerging from hunting pearls. Nourishing air is taken in, plumping its emaciated chest and expanding its form. It breaths out dirt into my wincing face, the odour of its lungs tacky with tar and dust. Seemingly cleansed, the breathing continues and settles to a deeply rhythmic tempo.

I repeat: ‘Who are you?’

A fleeting smile, and its tentative voice appears in my head without the need to move its lips.

I am just finding out. Feed me. Please.

I take my refugee home, for that is what I have decided he is, and place him on a blanket from my childhood. I set to building him a shelter made of books set upon each other. Heavy tomes interlink with frivolous novellas that in turn lock into novels. I use song and poetry to bond the papery bricks and complete the roof with the words of wise men and women; alongside articles and reports from free thinking publications. He grows inside, jitters give way to the occasional sigh of contentment as he feeds.

The walls of this house I adorn with images of my family and friends, past and present. With a pen passed down through generations, I write upon spaces between the pictures the stories of those shown in these portraits. With each adage and every yarn, the cloudy shroud dims a little more and the dark casing of this husk grows warmer in hue, fatter in form.

‘Who are you?’

Soon, we will know.

And so growth can be seen with each addition. I enrich his life with animals and fauna, sunrises and sea salt, salt tears and releasing smiles, with knowledge and culture. Loved ones stop by, placing caring hands on the den, pushing positive energy through to the timorous tenant inside. As each day passes, nerves give way to quiet confidence as he absorbs all that I thrust upon his person. 

Politics, and facts fill him, healthy food and minerals nourish him. I carpet his home with maps of adventures and morsels of delicacies from around the globe. Trinkets and coins are hidden in cupboards, locked up with the snarling fiends that want to reach him, to sink their teeth into his rounding flesh. That which sucks of his life is set apart, so that he may focus on that which is before him. And what now lays before him is the world without the shallow glitter, the clutter and the shit outside of the fusty gutter.

The time is upon us. Quest's end. 

So today, I watch proudly as he rises calmly on his two sturdy pink limbs and emerges from his house of empowerment. He is grown. Gone is the dark shroud that held him, and sloughed off is the flake of rot that covered him. Weightless shoulders squared and sturdy, head high. A toothy grin mirrors mine and eyes sparkle with life and humour. He is older, but exudes wisdom borne of the earth.

‘What is your name?’

You still don’t know?

‘Yes. Yes, I think I do’ I beam, hairs on end as I see this repaired being for what he is.

Measured and understanding, open minded and grounded. Hidden are the negatives and dark driving forces; to be replaced with that which counts and a level-headed outlook on life. An acceptance of faults of himself and of others. There is still fragility, but it is embraced and held aloft as a mace to ward off black beasts and gloomy worlds. 

Eyes, open, he freely sheds joyful tears as he stands before me. Face to face.

And without another word, he climbs inside of me, and we become the same. History and present face the future. The mended fused to the man that was broken, now the mender.