Escaped From The Confines Of The Written Word

Could the tale be true, she often wonders,

She’s heard the words whispered a time or two,

And other times she’s heard the words read aloud,

But is it possible, she continues to ask, can it be true?

***

Every time she hears the tale, her depression increases,

On her shoulders hangs this terrible stress,

Should she just admit defeat,

Oh, she’s terribly tempted, she does confess.

***

No, she refuses to believe that this tale is true,

How can it be, she’d surely know,

This is her life they are discussing,

As she hears, explained in great detail, the interior of her chateau.

***

How could they possibly know what her bedroom looks like,

As she cannot remember the last time anyone visited her,

Maybe it’s a good guess, or even a coincidence,

But she heard it clearly, even from the whisperer.

***

She thinks back to the tale she’s heard from others,

Suddenly remembering how they described her in great detail,

Such vivid imagery as they discussed her auburn curly hair,

And the gorgeous blue cocktail gown she purchased on sale.

***

Puzzled and confused, she puts it out of her mind,

Knowing she needed to move quickly and complete her chores,

Her stepmother would be home soon,

And she’d be told to hurry up and head to the stores.

***

She has two stepsisters, who are as lazy as can be,

They bully and laugh at her as she does all the work,

Her stepmother spoils them silly, giving nothing to her,

In fact all three of them order her around with a smirk.

***

But try as she might, she can’t forget the tale she keeps hearing,

And decides to run away to see if she can find the truth,

She slips her favourite blue gown on over her head,

Believing it will disguise her attempt as an amateur sleuth.

***

She waits until it’s dark outside and slips through the front door,

Carefully checking around every corner so she doesn’t get caught,

And slips from the pages into the silent dark night,

Glimpsing behind her a picture of her chateau, that doesn’t look like it ought.

***

Wait a minute, she freezes for a second, then slowly turns back,

She spies what should be her chateau, taking a second good look,

It’s nothing like she has always believed it to be,

In fact, it’s actually made up of the pages of an old story book.

***

Her mind is spinning, she has discovered the truth,

Her tale she kept hearing about is written there in black and white,

She’s just a humble fairytale character made up from somebody’s pen,

Just a figment of someone’s imagination in a story they did write.

If you liked my writing, please click on the small heart underneath, near my name. Or send me a tip and let me know you enjoyed it.

****

Please click the link below my name to read more of my work. I would also like to thank you for taking the time to read this today and for all your support.

If you enjoy this piece, you may enjoy this one too.

Originally posted on Medium