She said she was afraid to ask and if she ever dared, so I took a peak and it make me fantasize about the poem.
Like Hate and Love, Fantasy and Reality go hand in hand sometimes.

Dedicated to our precious Ann Scarborough



My lips are smiling as you can see
but my eyes certainly are not,
don’t ask to tell you painful secrets
I can’t tell only what I know,
I am the Princess of many tales
the one that kissed the lips of a frog,
instantly becoming a beautiful Prince
that went away, look back he did not;
the Princess that a Fairy Good Mother
make possible to attend other Prince’s ball,
and lost my crystal shoe on the stairs
at the midnight hour chiming on the clock,
but the Prince never came looking after,
I waited forever and was never found.

I was the hand that you, being blind,
helping to cross the street you took,
the softest ever you ever felt, you said,
and joked about “seeing” more
of each other, but both we knew that
it was a formality and we said adieu;
I am the voice you hear when desperate
the last instance number of a telephone
you dial expecting someone to understand
that you are at the end of you rope,
with tenderness, my heart goes to you,
you can hear it in the tone of my voice,
because I was there once, on the edge,
and suddenly my heart screamed Stop!

Please don’t look into my eyes
because I don’t want to know,
I wish to be surprised a Summer evening
or thereabout afternoon of a colorful Fall,
by a softly whisper in my hears when
someone says how much is his love,
to the little girl inside the woman
which dreamed a Prince from a frog,
and only got her feet wet by tears
on the shores of that pond.
I am the Princess with a sweet smile,
but a smile, my eyes will have not.