You have (1) new message from username YourFirstbornOrBust:
So a little spider told me that you’re
scared of falling for another one of those bears.
You know the type:
charming, cherubic and sweet as stolen honey.
Remember how it started off just right,
like those $900 boutique jeans that you
tried to buy with bad credit.
Maybe it was worth the
community service just to see your hips in
anything but a dowdy story gown.
Remember how he would scour the hundred acre woods
for your favorite flowers,
play your board games even when he
wanted to eat the pieces,
especially the toy dogs,
and often let you sleep in his bed.
But down the road,
after the honeymoon ends,
baby bear turns out to be just a child,
with needs that are too big and dreams far too small,
and you end up being eaten by his parents.
Or worse, bored.
That’s when you fall into
habitual drinking and find yourself
lost in wonderland. Little grizzlies
can’t deliver on the “just right” lifestyle
anymore, because lets be honest,
who eats porridge in today’s day and age?
And they sleep way to many
months of the year to be good providers.
Or maybe it’s more like one of those wolves
who looks wholesome at first.
The worldly sum of all those
mysterious romantic comedy leads:
tall, dark and good with his tongue.
I can imagine you began in a race to your
parent’s house to show him off.
Of course, his positive side doesn’t last.
Before long, his tongue grows to sharp,
and he begins to call your eyes and ears fat,
even though he isn’t much of a looker anymore.
Or his appetite gets the better of him and
it ends with you running for dear
life while he huffs and puffs behind you.
Once upon a fairy tale time it was
fairly easy to find true love.
Today, in the age of quick entertainment
and twitterings that last only the length of
a story’s moral, it’s more difficult to
maintain interest from anyone but villains.
But really, it’s okay gingerbread head;
I’ve heard miscellaneous monsters can’t type well,
so you probably won’t find them online.
I, on the other hand, am bad news.
I know the true names of every blade of grass,
can text faster than the teenage national average,
and spin rabbit food into cash money.
They call me Rumplestiltskin,
message me if you’re interested.