Before I was your punching bag
I was your princess.
A perfect portrait of all that unconditional love is supposed to be.
A love I've never known.
A love I've heard about, read about.
And just like the fairy tales my mother used to read to me at night about
The man who made the waters stand apart and the man who brought the dead back to life,
It sounded real good.
Only I dare not ask for a miracle.
I just needed another day to let my purple bruises turn yellow.
I dare not ask time to let them heal.
No, that might be more than I deserve.
So, I walk on egg shells and I try to cover my face and head
As your fists rain down, I send up a prayer,
Wishing for one last miracle.
Turn him into a pillar of salt!
No, a beetle!
So, that I may grind you underfoot
So that you learn the pain of being stripped naked of humanness.
So that no crown should be tarnished because of your many imperfections.
But, fairy tales aren't real and Prince Charming isn't coming.
At least, once upon a time, I was your princess.