the War within

“To be Queen, you have to be cold.”

Um, no.

I wear flowers in my hair
and a gore-spattered armour,
Pumpkin spice latte blowing steam onto my glasses as I watch the game,
Worn out leather boots and
a millennial pink skirt

Crown princess with a
smile made for war,
I got bored of all the princes
and now I’m searching for the sword

Struggling to pay rent,
stranded in a conference room
full of men
Mascara clinging to my lashes,
threatening to spill over
every now and then

Grease, nailpaint, blood
on my fingers,
My only hope is that my gravestone doesn’t read someone’s daughter or sister

I’d once read that between
her father’s and her husband’s name,
a woman doesn’t have much of a choice,
and that day I swore
to stop looking for Prince Charming,
to stop trying to fit into glass slippers;

Because not only am I my own true Queen,

I am the entire kingdom itself.