Make-believe princess

A dress, pink like your cheeks, you wore like you were told A palace, touching the sky You hope to reach its high The buttering, the bootlicking, their crude dance of discipline; Your heartbeat making its own melody and your feet dancing on its beat

The top, out of your reach they said,

for the top was meant for real royals and not for make-believe princesses The taunt on your hard work, the joke of unfairness, their laugh that stings The hope in your heart that still sings

Their proud eyes looking down upon the castaways your humble heart lending a hand, helping the help; The door of opportunities pushed-open by the echo of your dancing, the crack in your feet. You step through the door with sore feet, bleeding from dancing bare without any shiny shoes or privileged heels

The stairway of struggle beyond the door, you start climbing with one commandment- “Get to the top while your heart sings” Your beautiful dance, all the way to the top the print of your blood and tears on every step

The top, out of your reach they had said The top, you reach The bright rays of the sky falling on your dress making you see that your dress isn’t pink it is glowing red, for you were never a make-believe princess but the Royal Queen.