Please Save the Wounded Prince


I know I’m not a strong woman.
My flesh and bones at least aren’t.
I have pieces of my own that I collect every time they become a puzzle again.
In all fairytales, a prince saves a princess.
In our story, we save a prince.
I know he’s strong.
At least his skin and bones are.
He can carry me to bed with a smile.
His arms have the strength I ache for.
Last night, he couldn’t save me.
For I had to save him.
I know he hides his wounds underneath his skin.
Princesses only get saved, don’t they?
It is ok if he doesn’t cover his eyes when they are wet.
It is ok if they aren’t just open when they are dry and smiling.
Crumbling up in a corner, legs falling down the bed is also ok.
Saving him will not take away his throne.
I have thin hands and an exhausted body I live with.
I can save him without a crown.
He can run as fast as the waves from the shore.
His knees won’t collapse from running.
His wounds will open if he stops.
I’ll always be there to heal each.
All I ever wanted, was to protect him.

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