Just another Cinderella

She's waiting for a second chance,
doesn't want it to pass in the blink of an eye.
She feels invisible, maybe he just didn't see her,
one day as he walked on by.
What if to him she's still just Cinders,
he hasn't noticed the glass slipper yet?
Is there any hope for her fairy-tale ending?
Or should she just go back to bed,
trying to drown out her sobs from the world,
as they laugh her down to the floor.
Why did she ever think there was hope?
Happy endings are only folk-lore.
Sure, the romances, adventures, and mysteries
will lead you on a merry chase,
but in the end it's only another tale,
made up from someone else's fantasy--
no matter how real it looks.
She's stuck in the unfair fate
of the left-behind and unwanted.
Was it her fault Mr. wrong played her
then shoved her to the back of the shelf?
Will her knight in shining armor ever show up?
Or did he just loose his directions?
She kneels down, trying to ignore the voices,
shoving the confusing murmurs aside.
She knows her true knight,
not the kind in medieval history,
has already rescued her.
He wasn't Mr. wrong--
he treats her with respect.
He didn't get lost,
he's with her yet.
She doesn't need a second chance,
he kept her on the first.
She's his most precious possession,
he gives her worth.

Sweet and Sour

Dripping down your throat,
nostalgia--
so sweet, so sour.
The pleasant memories
serenading your senses
until the motorcycle
jumps the fence,
breaking whatever semblance
of peace and harmony
your heart harbored before.
The stories we could write
if reality was fiction--
the friendships we had--
the enemies we've made--
we daydream our lives
back into order--
a facade that brings us
a wisp of comfort
until the reality breaks into
our dream of disillusion--
the bitterness, the love,
the agony, the ecstasy,
the deceit, the reality--
all wound up into one
tight ball of reminiscence.