once upon a time,
i used to believe in
fairy tales.

seven years old,
the age when
all my bedtime storybooks
were as real as being.

castles and queens and kings,
dwarves and fairies and magic things,
storybook romances
where every beautiful princess
always gets her prince
at the end.

and at seventeen,
i’m still waiting for
of course,
that flawless first kiss from
my prince with his white horse.

but there is no fairy tale.

this was never a fairy tale.
i’m not locked up high in some tower
and i don’t need the rescue.
anyway, i don’t think you have the power
to slay those dragons
and rescue a damsel in distress.

i was waiting for
the day my prince would come.
but there is no enchanted woods
with snow white.
and chivalry is dead,
and there is no love at first sight.

but i know i’m not cinderella,
i know i’m not sleeping beauty,
and we’re certainly not edward and bella.

but i don’t need glass slippers,
i don’t need long rapunzel hair,
i don’t need romeo and juliet,
and i don’t need you
to carry me off into the sunset.

we’ll write our own fairy tale.
it won’t be anything brothers grim.
you’re no prince chraming,
but you don’t need to be him.
and i’m no princess,
but this isn’t a perfect love story.

i know we’re no noah and allie,
but you always say,
we’re just like jack and sally.
we’ll always be jack and sally.

definitely no fairy tale,
imperfect from the start,
empty of magic,
but it’s still love;
never to fall apart.

we created our own fairy tale,
and we’re still waiting for
happily ever after.
but no matter what happens,
we can’t go back,
and in the fairy tale in my head,
i’ll always be your sally,
and you’ll always be my jack.