If I could run,
I would run so fast
and I would run so far,
that even I wouldn’t know where to find me.
For this is not my home,
it has not captured my heart,
and it does not know my spirit.
I long for a knight to rescue me,
to carry me away.
To place a landscape before me,
as beautiful as the scenes from my books.
The books I so often find myself lost in,
immersed in,
engaged to.
The worlds I create,
when the imperfections overwhelm me.
I realize that these dreams are more like fairytales,
and I submit them to nonexistence.
I resign myself to admit that knights in shining armor,
do not belong in life such as mine.
The relation to Rapunzel seems more fitting,
for to be bound by love,
‘tis no better,
than to be loved by hatred.
Irony lives amongst and within in me,
its presence unavoidable.
And here is my heart on paper,
so easily torn,
an analogy I all but avoid.
If I could run,
I would fly.