musings from my sister Pauline
…this princess was made to be a queen… her father will make her one.
Once my smile was the loveliest
My garment the prettiest
I walked with grace
You could sing my praise
Never was it heard that a Prince would hurt a Princess
For he was trained to have a King’s sense
He didn’t mince his words
And you never did dare his sword
See, I have been forced
Into a curse
I am imprisoned
In this garment of crimson
I was serving bread
Because I truly cared
My treasure was not to be sold
How could he have been so cold?
Now my story is told
Many say I wasn’t bold
Daddy rejects
Mama regrets
I didn’t sell it
No one wants to hear me tell it
Instead they hold on to their dogma
I have become a stigma…
I hurt, I hurt, I really hurt
I wish…
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