Originally posted on Medium.
Rose was a fairy,
With purple hair to match.
Taking pills full of pixie dust,
To make the good thoughts last.
But the thing about fairies,
(The thing most don’t seem to know,)
Is that they hold a darkness in their heart,
In their bodies,
In their souls.
The pixie dust won’t always work.
So they try and try again,
Until she can be the version of herself,
That they always think she’s always been.
But Rose was special and brilliant.
With brilliant thoughts in her head,
Brilliant beauty on her skin,
and a brilliant sense of dread.
She’d sparkle like the morning dew,
(Gently and with care,)
She can make you feel brand new,
Beautiful, open, and bare.
But she’d become a storm from time to time,
Ripping through towns and cities,
Unable to control her power or mind,
That sat in her head so pretty.
For days or months,
She’d hide quietly among the trees,
Thoughts under purple hair turning darker,
Until she could no longer see.
But the thing about darkness,
(And the thing about light,)
And the thing about fairies,
And the thing about Rose,
Was a series of clichés set nicely in prose.
It was always darkest before the dawn,
And good did prevail over evil.
Clumsy is the fawn,
And there truly are good people.
Rose could get through this,
And she would time and time again.
But darkness is seductive,
And likes to consider her a friend.
But her brilliance and her light,
Would shine out brightly once more.
And with a touch of pixie dust,
Rose would teach me that a life without ups and downs,
Would simply be a bore.