I Asked You

I asked you to treat me like I was delicate, and you said, “Wish not granted.” Your reputation precedes you, an ice sculpture, beautiful in every physical way and desirable to your core, but it doesn’t seem the core is any different than the surface.

It’s frozen.

You follow the traditions of all the dynasties that came before you. They were human men, just like you, and they were fallible, just like you, and they were careless, just like you.

When I was a little girl, my mom told me I was a princess. And I believed her.

But you don’t.

I asked you to be careful with me, and you said with a cold breath, “But I’m selfish.” And when you look in the mirror, somehow you see justice, but when I look at you, I break a little every time.