OF
THEM ALL
by Ian
You're cutting
a ribbon.
You're slamming into a stone wall at over 90 mph.
You serve a purpose.
You are a princess.
This is it. You wont rise any higher. You may give birth to the next king, or
you may give birth to another generation of useless princesses who hope that
either their parents die or they have a son. There are mirrors that talk to
you. There are witches after you.
Yet you manage to walk in a straight line with that tiny crown never slipping
off your head. Dare you tell them that it is nailed on? Figuratively of course.
Your purpose is to marry. To give birth. You sit and dream all day in the tower
about a handsome prince.
You embroider to pass the time. You are not good at it. There is a nice view
of the valley from the arrow- slit window.
You plot and you cook up ideas and schemes. You want the man of your dreams.
And if these plans come to nothing, your parents will find a prince for you.
Life is good.
That prince will be your cousin. It is legal to sleep with your uncle's son.
And not just because you are a princess. Life is good.
You spent weeks without sunlight to preserve your milky skin for the ceremony. Now you feel sick and can hardly stand. There will be horse, cow, sheep, duck, rabbit, pig, and fish at the banquet. You can smell them already. 7 people are helping you to put your dress on. There is too much lead in the corset. You try to add up the number of hours you have spent alone with the prince duing your life. 7. He has a girlfriend. He wont be giving her up. But you dont mind. You will have children. Heirs. Good.
You spend the next
few years pregnant. 4 girls. girl girl girl girl. girl. 5. Its years later and
you still feel sick.
You are 22. Your skin looks blue. The clothes you wore to the ball a month ago
weighed more than you do.
You are flying around the world. You are opening department stores. You would rather be ending war and hunger. You cant. You are a princess. You try anyway. You cut ribbons, you wear silly clothes, you are married to a prince. Mirrors talk to you. Frogs look at you in a hopeful manner. But even the frogs have stopped doing that of late.
Your mother is
dead. You have a stepmother. She is evil. She is bad for your father. She is
prettier than you.
You wish you could throw a rock at me to shut me up. You cant lift one big enough.
Look at me.
Look at yourself.
You havent earned your station in life, so you cant give it up.
Life is good. Yours isn't.