Gender Bender FairyTale (In Poem Form) “Perdita”

Omnibus in foro S.P.D.

So the latest assignment in my writing group involved “Gender Bender” Fairy Tales(i.e. Cinderella becomes Cinderello) and also an added twist.   The written piece must also include an alternate ending.  E.g.  If the Fairy tale had a happy ending then it must be sad, or if the Fairy tale had a sad ending it must now be written as something happy.

So for my contribution:  I took on “Pinocchio” in the form of a poem.  Or should I say “Perdita” 🙂  Feedback as usual welcomed!

Pax,

Bone Mama Belleen

 

 

Perdita’s Tears 05/24/2014

 

Perdition,

That is what I was named after,

It was as if my creator did it on purpose,

A cruel jest on his part,

For I am always to be forever lost,

 

A failed experiment,

His desire for a child overcame his sound reason,

If he could not spill his seed inside a woman,

to create flesh and bone,

Then he would create one made from splintered wood,

and pigments called paint,

 

Day after day,

My master chiseled,

To create my perfection,

Wood so polished,

Appeared to be ivory from afar,

Blonde hair stolen from barbers leftovers,

Red ruby lips were added by aid of paintbrush,

Blue eyes he painted so that I could see the world.

 

After cladding me in dresses made of discarded gossamer,

I was compared to cherubs due to my visage,

His greatest creation he would roar to all his patrons,

I was to be loved above all things,

Just as he would a real daughter.

 

 

There were things that I could not do,

That a real child could,

I could not embrace my parent without the aid of strings,

I could not speak my devotion,

Nor could I speak my defiance,

 

Night after night my Pater would pray,

That I could be made real,

Yet his prayers went unanswered,

No fairy came with a spell to transform me,

I remained this wooden puppet,

 

 

What my Father did not understand,

That there were benefits to my current condition,

I would never age,

With proper care I would never fall apart,

I could forever be his perfect little girl,

 

For years he would look at me,

His joy became true sorrow,

And with that sadness,

brought forth my exit,

I had outgrown his supposed

adornment,

 

Now I am alone,

The darkness being my only companion,

As I remember my Inventor,

And  what he would often whisper,

Mi dolce Perdita.”

 

Perdita,

That was my name,

He gave me the wrong name,

And now I am the one who is lost,

Simply a forgotten doll,

 

If only he could see me now,

He would remember how he once loved me,

And would see how much I still love him,

Knowing that after all these years,

Finally his prayers have been answered,

Because he would be able to see that the tears are real,

If only he would open the closet door.

©2014 T.B. Morte

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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