A Botched-up Fairytale
Who was it
That made me believe
Being alive
Was meant to be good?
That it will all work out
In the end
Just like it does
At the end of a fairytale?
Why did I think
I had a right
To expect things to be perfect
How could I have thought
They ever could be
And that happiness
Was something
That was handed to you
Like a trophy
Once they were?
If I had not believed these lies
Would I be here in this place
Right now?
Sitting on the fence
Trying to figure out
If this ‘new’ reality
That is indeed life
Really is worth living;
If I can possibly
Make peace with these truths
That have shattered
My rosy tinged illusions
Stolen my hopes and dreams
Dissolved the naive paradigm
I have assumed
All my life …
Wondering,
If it is in fact possible
To find some sort of happiness
Or even a skerrick of point
In living my own imperfect
Botched-up fairytale
That is life.
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