Cinderella Cutouts

Written to a seventeen year old heroine I know.

With so many advances,
she could hardly see.
Men at her feet,
the vast universe allowed
her the grace of a
million fantasies,
she did what she had to,
staying alive,
alluring them with a
brazen sexy smile.
Her humble cry
was as clueless
as a Chevy Malibu
screeching to a halt
outside her window,
she could eat you up
with bubblegum sticks.

A Cinderella cut-out
you could tell she
had a broken arm,
reeling in diamond rings
as single and sober
as a nun.
Plastered with the politics
of the boy with the most
handsome face,
she could die in the
wake of a forbidden dragon
until there was nothing
left.

Like a queen at the end
of the day,
she sighed preciously
at burnt dusk,
there was sweat in every
move she made.
As her river tan faded,
her curls fell through
stained glass,
she had no serenity
left for the meaning of
her first lover's squall.

He left her
with a pumpkinish prayer
that gave her a way
to look up to the
raptured sky as her
tears fell like raindrops
in heaven.

Second Place winner,
Stormy Lady's Weekly Poetry Contest