Cinderella with a Pocket Knife

I call it intent. Others maybe circumstance. The single artery in all that meat. Her tongue negotiating with her teeth on how to swallow it. That moment when something living becomes meat.

It's life. It's death. It's what makes them the same.

I'm just playing scrabble with one letter. Letting the words make me up. I was always ignoring myself before I started ignoring them. They always took it for sarcasm when I would allude to the truth.

Fairy godmothers with their early curfews make her gown vanish in the middle of the ball. She looks for the lesson in her humiliation and finds hope to be at fault.

Too many princes have dropped that glass slipper on the way to find her.

Too many condoms flushed between friends.