"Fairy Tale....Reality Check"

"Fairy Tale....Reality Check"


Go, Cinderella: 


With your house slipper 
that you call a glass shoe, 
your unearned means that 
you later deem shattered dreams,


Your man whose grand scheme involves 
street teams and triple beams, 
that crack whore credit score, 
leaking pipes and cracked floor…


Go, Cinderella:


Swooning over poets while 
poking fun at love letters, 
talking about cheese 
but can't even spell Cheddar,


"Watching the cash grow" 
but burning money fast, 
refusing to take it slow; 
so you know it never lasts,


Down talking the hags 
but you chase the jeans that sag, 
calling them the improper, 
but your head stays in boxers.


Yeah. Go, Cinderella:


Ambitious girl 
with her priorities skewed, 
the only "sweetheart" 
with a bad attitude, 
speaking sensitivity 
but acting like a dude,


More crude than shrewd, 
extremely rude 
and always in one of your moods 
which include 


the "chick who does it best,"
The "main bitch in charge," 
the "damsel in distress" 
and the "rock that will not barge."

No class for the pretentious ass.


Let's go, Cinderella:


You'll never dance on glass. 
You don't deserve a pass. 
Crash through your ceilings 
and see what it's like 
to face your feelings.


I bet it's not fun. 
So bite your tongue 
in lieu of the few 
who express themselves 
the way they do; 
lest you become one.


Keep walking Cinderella:


Get it, boss lady. 
Flaunt and floss, lady. 
Move around; 
because when it falls down, 
it's time to drown, lady.


It's going down, baby: 
Don't jeer at 
that puddle of tears. 
Too late to cry 
"Save me!" 


You have no fear, 
right? 
It's crystal clear, 
right?
You'll make it through the night. 
It's what you do. 
Right. 
Fool yourself, maybe 
but the rest of us aren't crazy.


I procrastinate; 
but I'm not lazy. 
I tend to over-saturate; 
but that's for safety. 
I'd rather land safely 
than let your plans faze me.


Get on, Cinderella:


Hop off of the bone. 
My Queen has claimed that throne. 
This is not your zone; 
so just leave me alone.


You make me sick, girl. 
You give me cancer. 


Don't need the tricks, girl. 
You can save the banter.


Keep your friendly texts, girl. 
Quell the occasional chatter. 


Don't ask what's next, girl. 
Your inquiry yields ugly answers.


You'll get what you 
don't want from me. 
You'll view what you 
don't want to see: 


The truth 
about a youth 
who became what she 
never thought she'd be:


A pig rolling around, 
acting like she doesn't love 
being battered in 
her lather of fecal matter; 
so disgusting, she can't even gather 
laughter from the Mad Hatter,


Earth shattered because 
she's depressed and getting fatter, 
but daring enough to pile 
more insults on other people's platter,


Claiming something bigger than herself 
but getting pissed when no one flatters, 
saying she left love on the shelf; 
pretending like it doesn't matter…


Move your ass, Cinderella!


Those are boots. 
Not glass slippers that you walk in. 
No one cares about your tantrums; 
so change the mood you talk in.


You're not what you think you are; 
so just proceed. 
Don't wine or balk when 
I present you with this broom. 
Clean your porch before you walk in.


Go, Cinderella.


Written By: Devin Joseph Metz