Ever think of the glossy halos women are supposed to wear?
Idealistic they must be.
Truly a cacophony of demands to shut the door on.
Whatever happened to the villains that were once a distinction?
A fable not yet read by the “social order”
But, they lock the princess in the tower, pamper her glossy tresses, submit her to the harsh wilderness her hands should not be able to handle.
***
Yet, like many before, she becomes her own.
No more unnecessary sweet salutations,
Or under the table cigarettes,
And better yet, no glossy rapunzel locks for them to twist and tangle.
She becomes the witch that they all say she is.
She is the Lilith they all knew she could be.
Gibberish tongues lash out and bruise, but the truth is no more than what was under the veil all along.
She beat the trembling tower, sheared off the twists to become what they said, the witch, the monster that no longer possessed a halo to glow.
Witch of the woods, no longer angry at them all, but challenged her true self.
