grasping for your guestlist,
your throne into which I am not invited
though glimmering it from your backyard
I am not delighted

for whom am I written, if not for you?
though I'm in the back of you head
I'm never in the front line
looking from under your feet
you are still divine

so
why are no braids coming down your window,
when you've told me a billion times to climb?
why is there no tiara,
wrapped around my mind?

buy me now cause I'm out for sale
cheapest thing you'll find
to participate in your fairytale