She listens beside the ocean for love songs of dead sailors,
Spanish pirates, and Viking warriors.
The soft moan of the sky cries across the stars.
The moon shapeshifts to the faces of those she lost
But she hungers for her prince.
The castle just seems too big and her nights are no Sleeping Beauty.
The fairies stopped listening to her wishes,
And now her regrets almost equal the water in the sea.
Piano strings make for good fishing wire,
And she hopes to catch herself a man
Who will fill the dull hours between dusk and sun rise,
Because at this rate
The sand dunes have a greater chance of major life changes.
Her peers used to call her Princess, and she loathed it so,
Because she was the lowest peasant in the village of her mind.
She scrubbed her porcelain skin of that invisible stain
She felt inside, but the anxiety only rises like the full moon tide.
All that is left is the trickle of blood, mixing with the white sea foam.
She watches it recede into that great unknown
And whispers with salty tears,
Someday my Prince will come.