It’s Grimm

Cinderella never asked for a prince,
she asked for a night off, and a dress.

Let it be know that I’m not funny, but I can be punny?

So my ‘friend’  asked me why I’m still single the other day. I didn’t mention the whole ‘I usually do the unrequited thing’, or the ‘I only meet guys when I’m drunk thing’ or the ‘I’m not quite desperate enough for tinder yet thing.’ I straight up have been buried under work for the past month. I told this friend of mine that no, I’m not looking for a relationship, I’m looking for three spare hours, a glass of wine and to not look like a neanderthal.

So yeah, I’m not asking for a Prince (though it would be nice if one showed up). I’m looking for some relaxation time, something my friend should invest in. Seriously. I’m 21, if it was 250 years ago I would be a spinster. Now? I’m in my prime and I have time for the whole romance thing later.  Take note, teens; this quote speaks the truth.

Over worked Cinders out x


The Truth

Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never once beautiful. It was just red.

Somebody said that. And nothing has ever been more true.

We make grand stories out of nothing. Put huge significant on events that in the scheme of things don’t matter. We make ourselves the protagonists of tragedy. Then we write ourselves the happy ending we want to deserve.

It’s a delusion, in a way. Wish fulfillment. But romanticizing things doesn’t change the truth of what happened.

After all, blood has never been beautiful; it’s  just been red.

Only With You

Falling, Falling,
Breaking down
Like an old chevy
It’s spark plug blown.

Crashing, smashing
Careening astray
Like a train wreck about to happen
But you can’t look away.

That’s the way I love,
If you’re not into it
Don’t stay

Risky business
Playing with fire
But the danger
Lays only with you.


Eyes on fire,

Skin is burning

Feeling the tingles

Dance straight through me.


You’re looking at me

And it’s the apocalypse

Standing on the edge of a cliff—

that crazy kind of adrenaline.


Instant connection,

Pulsing, throbbing,

World stopping.

The kind that creates insanity.

Or obsession.


Apparently, others call it infatuation.

The stupid ones call it love;

That abominable vulnerability

That no one quite escapes.


Put faith in it,

And you can grasp it,

Touch it, feel it.

But you’ll never hold it indefinitely,

Love is not forever,

Or forever is fleeting.


But the risk’s worth it.

Eyes still burning,

Heart still racing

Hands still trembling,

Craving intimacy.


In the moment

We all slip into insanity,

Because one chance at happiness

Is enough to override the pain

Of tragedy,

When everything falls apart.