"Messy Girls," a poem

Cinderella is a raving

mad bitch.

She missed her stop at Fillmore

but that’s not the troubles weighing her down.

Of all the people,

of the chicks 9 to 5 like her

no chances of dreams

Shitting  the dress, spill the shooters

hairspray and mascara that run

things she swears over her dead body

could ever happen

ever after

Yeah she’s over it,

shouting to the rooftops

from bathroom mirrors

with pop songs on repeat

to affirm exalting madness

and over how skeptical she is

of every name tag

reading “Prince Charming.”

She’s just over it

the girl with the heart of gold

looking out to the foam slithering into Ocean Beach,

Cinderella thinks she’s caving in

With her favorite song in mind,

she’ll jump with fulfillment onto the back of the motorcycle

with Matt Helders.

Maybe she’ll kick the glass slipper and

don cream combat boots,

blowing that sinister kiss to the Prince.