I am no princess waiting for rescue.
Any tower I am inside I own the keys to
and the dragon coiled at the base
is of my own making. You might bleed
the price the thorns I planted as seeds require,
surrounding stone walls and hope to find me
sleeping, waiting for a kiss to animate me,
and end up disappointed
when you break down the door
and find me awake and scowling,
flatfooted and ankle deep in weeding,
asking you why, knighthood aside
you lacked the grace to knock,
and what you have done to my roses.