Suffering in silence,

Listening to blindly cruel comments,

Not daring to tell her stories, or daydreams,

Because, after all,

They’re not traditional.

Gender specific songs that don’t fit

Irritation building up inside,

Why do you apply that to me?

It’s not me at all.

Chuckling laughter in the halls

At some joke that she can’t help

But take personally.

And the comments are what keeps her silence

Intact.

Stories in which tradition is upheld

And annoyance makes her close the book

With a sharp, angry noise.

That doesn’t fit me

Is what I can’t help but think.

Odd looks, comments

Why are you reading that?

That’s so gay.

It’s her choice.

Why should they care?

Everyone, everywhere,

Clinging to society’s standards

Conforming.

That’s not me.

And, after all,

How many fairy tales end

With the maiden getting the princess?