Not Every Prince Wears A Crown

Introduction: We grow up with fairy tales stitched into our childhoods—stories where love is a rescue mission, where perfection wears a crown. This poem is a quiet rebellion against those ideals. It’s about a girl who waits for her prince, only to discover that her story is hers alone to write.

She grew up with tales in golden thread,

Of glassy dreams and words unsaid.

Where sleeping girls found love through touch,

And fairy dust could do so much.

The stories whispered, soft and sweet,

Of royal hearts and ballroom feet.

Of carriages spun from pumpkin vines,

And perfect lips that spoke in rhymes.

She waited for a prince to find

The missing shoe she'd left behind.

But none came knocking, none who knew

That her feet bled from walking too true.

No magic mirror spoke her name,

No rose stood still within a frame.

No dragon burned, no tower high—

Just mundane mornings passing by.

Still she searched in crowded streets,

For storybook eyes and chivalrous feats.

But love wore denim, not royal threads,

And spoke in truths, not silken dreads.

She tripped on dreams, fell into years,

Outgrew the myths, outcried the tears.

Until one day she met her gaze

And saw a fire in her own blaze.

The crown she sought sat on her brow,

Invisible—but present now.

No prince had brought it to her hands—

She built it from her failed plans.

She danced alone beneath moon’s glow,

No spell, no gown—just letting go.

And found in silence something rare—

A peace not bound to love’s affair.

One day love knocked—no trumpet blast,

No gallant steed from kingdoms past.

Just quiet words and calloused palms,

And in his arms, no need for qualms.

Her ending came—not grand or bright,

But warm, content, and softly right.

Not all prince charmings ride through mist—

Some show up simply, and persist.

Reflection: This is not a tale of lost hope, but of found strength. It reminds us that happy endings don’t always arrive on horseback. Sometimes, they walk in slowly. Sometimes, they don’t arrive at all—but we still grow, we still bloom. Because love begins with the self, and not every prince comes with a castle.