I was never a princess.
Princesses danced in stories,
or hid themselves in tall misty palaces,
long ago and far away.
They were not for the likes of a solitary northern child
looking at the world through the pages of a book.
You might have caught sight of one,
if you were very lucky,
trudging along, unnoticed,
in a fancy dress parade of oddities,
but that is all,
and it was never me.
I didn’t miss it back then,
but now that I am middle aged,
grey haired, thick waisted,
and just beginning to creak a bit,
I wish that I had been given the chance
to stand in front of my mum,
eyes shining, dress sparkling, adored,
knowing that I was real royalty,
a perfect little wonder
to be photographed, celebrated
and thought beautiful.