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Growing Up Is Voluntary

i was fifteen
the first time a boy told me i had the grace of snow white

i was fifteen
the first time he told me i had the fierceness of merida

i was fifteen
when he told me i was as kind as cinderella

fifteen was the age of tapering imagination,
tattered ball gowns,
and rotting pumpkin carriages

fifteen was the dawn of paper mache crowns
torn to shreds
when you became too old for disneyland

fifteen was lonely

and yea maybe that was
because fairy godmothers couldn’t wipe away bad GPA’s
and unfinished college resumes
but it was also because i couldn’t have a prince charming
if my ending wasn’t happy

fifteen was the year i needed belle’s love of books
more than i needed merida’s courage
or jasmine’s fire

fifteen was the year i needed anna’s forgiveness
and elsa’s hope

fifteen was the year i spent locked in the tower
hoping someone would let me out
even though i had the key resting in my palm

fifteen was the year i gave up

and i stopped believing in happy endings
because what was happy always ended
but no one really noticed that i had shut them out like elsa
and that i was hiding my insecurities behind bloody ballet shoes
and bruises

and i know that doesnt seem like much
but it was one 
two
three pairs
and four
five
six blood stains on satin
before i set down the mop and dusted off my dress

i was fifteen
when i stopped getting older
i was fifteen
when disney became home again

and i was fifteen
the first time a boy told me i was just as adventurous as jasmine
i was fifteen
the first time he told me my eyes held rapunzel’s wonder
i was fifteen
when he told me i had belles love of books

and i was fifteen
the first time i believed him

princessyouthfree verse

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