Princess I am not
The Princess and the Pea
was one of my favorite stories
as a girl.
I wanted to prove
to someone
that I was not the one who was not bothered,
the chill one, placated.
But I was.
free-spirit private school til fourteen,
my eaglet's wings compressed in on themselves
when confronted with the terror that is high school.
No longer did I breathe Devil's advocate
or correct my father's spelling--
No longer was I sure.
That story has sat quietly, as I did,
in the back of my mind
for years.
But
I now realize, I am no longer the placated one
the girl who didn't raise her hand to disagree.
Now I pass sleepless nights
because I can feel something far beneath me
a pea
a thought
a word
I try to find that missing...something
I slurp my soup and revel in the sound
I fall small and kiss every bruise
I bury my nose in a thousand thousand books
praying for a pea wedged between the pages
I learn to speak up
dust off those vocal cords with a stiff brush made of
horsehair and valid opinions
Misguided, sometimes, maybe,
but valid all the same
because I feel them
and I read and I read and I read
and feel
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