The Princesses Finally Rage Quit {And Form a Nature Society}

You might find them in the woods, if you can get past 
the nymphs (who are on their side). They only want the 

kiss of breeze, the romance of trees, the squeeeee of mud
-lucious squish between unadorned toes. They’re done 

with spells and slippers and steps. They’ve stolen steeds
and turned them back to wild. They’ve abandoned lace 

and silk and satin and corset squeeze for the dance 
of wind across skin, and quaint cotton trousers that allow

them to climb. They’ve got forts and swords and all devil
-ish sorts of dragons, trained not to fight, but fly. They 

only sing when they want to, and bow to the moon. They’ve 
learned to speak sparrow, read bark, spark sunlight into 

quiet fire. They’re unshaven, uncraven, and gravely serious
about getting the giggles each day around three. You see,

they’re betrothed only to friendship and laughter and 
spending their ever afters in unfettered glee. 

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