The Disposable Woman
I could be the hero’s mother, sister, wife, best friend,
and it would end the same: bullet
through my brain, scarlet
enough not to tarnish the beauty
of the body
left dead for him to find.
Or maybe I’m not even worth the screentime
—just one line of dialogue, the tragic news
that finally forces him to choose a side.
At least with the villain, I’d have time,
to prove myself useful, get the job done—only then
does he betray me, leaving me cold
on the floor—proof of his unrelenting bloodlust.
Either way, you come back
to see me die
in every world and every iteration—just so you
can continue watching,
for the story to go on
Prince Charming Takes the Princess to Bed
They kiss, and that is all,
as the carriage takes them away,
hiding from us the afterwards, so we get to call this love—this pure and sexless
thing—before age blurs the differences
between love and sex, prudishness and disinterest,
before we grow to expect a new ever after:
carriage doors open—horses, now mice again,
scurry into the night. And the prince takes her to a bedroom,
lays her on slippery silk sheets, blind
to the reluctance in her eyes. In her dreams
they kiss, and that is all,
but this is dream come to life;
this is what she wanted—her deliverance: his hand
sliding up under her long skirt
that he loves her.
Zeline Theodoro (she/her) is an asexual Filipino American who loves writing fiction and poetry. When she’s not reading or writing, she enjoys playing video games and watching various animated shows, always searching for rad representation.
photo by Kate Hliznitsova (via unsplash)