Monday, January 14, 2008
The Princess (poem)
(image from source)
The Princess
I think it was the isolation
which tore our hearts
out.
The knowing
that you could not tell,
not speak of this
to anyone,
must make yourself very small
like Alice,
or paint yourself
with invisible ink.
There were no support groups.
There was no support.
Your family did not
want to hear.
Your boss
would get you fired.
The psychiatrist
(and you knew better than
to go)--
that friendly fellow
would send you to
a mental institution,
or even jail.
You could, of course,
find yourself in a book.
You were right there,
along with the many perverts
and criminally insane
and all the other outcasts
society didn't want anything
to do with.
You were a threat
to yourself and
others.
You were the princess
in the fairy tale,
the one locked in a tower,
waiting for the right
prince to come along,
a prince with a cleavage,
somebody who in fact looked
a lot like you.
It was a lonely path
but it was your own.
It was full of honey,
of exaltation,
joy beyond all telling.
Dorothy Walters
January 11, 2008
