Memories began, when she was five,
with not much care, feeling just fine.
Spending her days, unknotting binds,
most pleasant child, kept within lines.
Her brilliant mind, was masked for thrills,
her deepest thoughts, went unfulfilled.
Naughty but in the purest way,
angry that fun, could never stay.

As sweet sixteen soon came to be,
unmasking lies, for all to see,
her darkest fears and solemn tales,
picked herself up, when all hands failed.
Adulthood swiftly came to play,
removing bows and pretty lace.
Moving away, to a new place,
with no old ties, a new escape.

She met new dolls, gave them fun names,
so paper cut, they looked the same.
They grew up fast, sharing some bonds,
of her strange ways, they were quite fond.
An angel came, swept her right up,
soaking her tears, filling her cup.
He washed his hands, when he was done,
leaving her torn, making her run.

Ran straight into his opposite,
numbing herself, if for a bit,
but realized he was not fit.
He screamed too loud, the walls were hit.
She thought of ways to go off grid,
too late some how, they now had kids,
did not work out, support all hid,
found inner strength to close the lid.

Sun had emerged, behind the clouds,
love came in fast, it sang so loud.
Enough for two, three was a crowd,
shinning with grace, she took a bow.
It claimed her heart, also her mind,
the love was true, one of a kind.
One small pebble, stuck in the way,
it got kicked fast, it could not stay.

Finally healed, remorse had fled,
her love was real, not in her head.
Followed the paths, to where they led,
so she could sleep, on her own bed.
Her fairytale was not an act,
epiphanies to reenact.
Echoes are gone, that is a fact
the best is now, what she attracts.

– Grace Y. Estevez – Reddy

Originally Published August 18, 2022