made a wish
to be less
of a lady
and find the bedtime story
in the heart
beneath her hands.
She wanted certainty of endings
in the making of her midnights,
strong arms for a cradle,
a lullaby, a man
to call her his- to call her baby,
but something in her wish went wild.
Now she's treated less a lady;
she's treated like a child.
And the rough drafts just keep getting rougher! This one's for Magaly's prompt at Real Toads