Tale as Old as Time
A Fairy Tale Poem
It was the last Disney movie to come out before my grandmother’s suicide before I was little girl lost without grandparents without home, this story became my home, my comfort, it always will be —
ironic that it was a movie about me — me then, me now, Belle, bookworm, Belle, with my same name Belle, with her belief that getting out of her small town would
change everything, that she could get free — running and singing to all of the clouds on all of the hills about getting out, such imaginings! Typical of her, of me, of us pretty nerd types, being so damn book smart and so naive, so kind and gentle, and so used and abused so gullible, really — books are fantasy, books are fairy tales, girl!
Read as many as you want, but then take a look around. Your feet are just feet, not glass slippers. True love is more Shakespeare, less magic, less flowers. In the fairy tale, speaking of, she has some sisters, I forget how many but in fairy tales usually just know the sisters are the bad ones,
egotistical narcissistic shallow, the works, they ask their father to bring them back the moon and the stars and money and men and gems and jewels and all Belle wants is a rose, red, organic, natural, and yet wouldn’t you know it, the smallest ask, the simple thing
is what sets off the whole ordeal, the wolves, the kidnappings, the power of love, of marriage. I am always torn, well not always, but recently torn between feeling joy for Belle and pity, after all she gets what so many of us want, am I right ladies? She tames a Beast, she turns a man from a
#hastag# not all men selfish self-centered monster into a Prince #hastag not all men again# into someone grateful for her, into someone with promises and vows, she lives the dream, I suppose — and she gets a library! Gasp! Faint!
The one thing consistent in her life and dreams, her constant companion, her comfort, her home — her love for books! Talk about happily ever after! And then I imagine her, four years in, six years in, realizing the beast never left,
realizing that feeling of worship and gratitude has dimmed, realizing the difference between love, self-love, taming, and transformation. I imagine her alone with her books, he’s out somewhere again, she’s drinking tea, reading and yet
wondering what happened, wondering where that sweeping her off her feet feeling went, wondering why men and beasts and beasts and men set the tone for the whole show anyway, they act, we react, they have feelings and emotions they don’t know how to control,
we dance and fawn and cower and rescue and adjust around them, they have dreams and needs, we supply, we supply, we supply. Emotional labor is a thankless, exploited, unpaid,
lonely and sexist job, — when it should be a two way street, when it should be mutual liberation, when it should be balanced gratitude - and look around once more, sweetie, look at who really got freed.
Jenny Justice is a poet mom who longs to bring poetry to life in ways that spark empathy, connection, joy, and feeling. She loves writing love poems, climate change awareness poems, poems for kids, and of course, poems about poetry and poets. You can follow her on Medium and at Jenny Justice, Writer. You can support her on Patreon. You can follow her poetry at Justice Poetic.
My other fairy tale poems, so far ❤:
The Little Mermaid
Cinderella
Hansel and Gretel
❤