The Question

Once upon a time
There was a girl who wanted so badly to be loved
She made every mistake it was possible to make

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She traveled into dark and dangerous places—

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—fairy-tale forests, claustrophobic 
nightclubs, Craigslist personal ads—

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She offered herself to any clutching hands—

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—the calloused grip of a blacksmith, 
the manicured fingers of a businessman, 
a witch’s bony claws—

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And if she came across a boy kind enough
To wait, to withhold his embrace till she reached 
out first—

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She ran.

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The girl made a fool of herself. She begged
For attention. She expected too much
And too little
At once.

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For a while, she thought she’d received
What she desired
Attracted men who admired
Her body

So she looked for the imperfections
On her own flesh
The reasons she didn’t deserve this

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And she always found them.

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So the girl retreated
To the blank page
Where she could list her flaws
And her foolish transgressions
And relive them a million times.

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Still, it wasn’t punishment enough.

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She had to keep writing
Rewriting
Remembering
The tales she had read once
About fantasy and desire
She had to ask herself the question
She had avoided for so long:

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Can I love those stories, live those stories
In a world without fairies and witches
Spells and enchantments
A world where happily-ever-after
Isn’t what you thought?

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Can I still be a heroine
When I’ve been stupid and selfish
Ugly and foolish
The witch and the princess
The light and the dark?