Change Fairy Godmother For Broom

I deny being a princess and my fairy godmother. I deny the dresses, my golden curls and jewels. I hate my enchanted castle, my loneliness still surrounded by a thousand shadows. I deny my glass cage, the tower, the captivity and waiting to be rescued. I deny my fragility and my beauty. I renounce privileges, status and my castle.

I don’t want a fairy godmother who sews me nice dresses to get to the dance. Nor do I want enchanted floats or butlers. Change fairy for broom.

But give me a broom. I’d rather be a witch. I want toads and lizards. I don’t want squirrels, rabbits, or fawns. I want to play with dragons.

I deny my naivety and innocence. I trade my kingdom for cunning and sagacity. I prefer night to day, darkness to light. Only surrounded by darkness can you find yourself. Save myself, without waiting for others to do it. I want to bet on myself, on my essence.

Where do I sign?

I don’t want a fairy, I want to live like a witch

I don’t want to spend my days scanning the horizon, waiting to see my prince charming arrive on his horse to rescue me. Who is that gentleman? And why do I have to live happily ever after with him? I want to ride my broom, go out and look for him, and stay up all night with him.

I want to get out of the tower. Fly with the moon and stars. Because while princesses sleep, witches fly.

I want to surround myself with other witches, other villains, learn from them. Of his inventiveness to win the battle against kings and princesses. I want to fly free. All night. Come back at dawn and sleep late. And forget about the pea under the fourteen mattresses.

I don’t want anyone to wait up for me. I don’t want queens frustrated with the midlife crisis. I don’t want envious stepmothers who want my heart in a chest. I do not want kings who agree to my marriage to expand their kingdom. Let no one dress me, comb my hair, or bathe me.

I don’t want to sing with the birds, I want to fly with them. I prefer to feel, breathe, live, love and suffer. Only with suffering do we come to the true essence of ourselves. I long to hit rock bottom, deny myself, and rise from my ashes.

I don’t want to be a princess

Princesses do not expose themselves, they do not choose, they do not fail. Princesses do not suffer. They accept their written destiny with resignation, patiently, because they believe that in the end they will eat partridges and live happily ever after. Or that is what they have been promised. Because they don’t question, they don’t argue, they don’t suspect.

I don’t want to be a princess. I want to choose my prince charming. And if possible it is neither prince nor blue. I want a villain who doesn’t cast a spell on me, but who makes me feel enchanted every day.

That I do not have a castle where I feel safe. I prefer that he has eyes that make me fall into the abyss. Feel the vertigo by your side. That he does not promise me riches, that he promise me fight.

I change handsome prince for scoundrel. That he loves me as a witch, not as a princess. May he also be persecuted, so that every day we have to hide in a different place. That I fall in love with his pillería, not with his smile. I exchange marriage and eternal love for freedom and madness.

I don’t want a story with a happy ending. I want to write my story every day.  That I am not one of those who want to eat partridges, I prefer to drink champagne. Live at risk or die trying. Be grateful to be alive. Squeeze each day as if it were your last. Because tomorrow I may be judged and end up at the stake.

Because witches are burned at the stake, but princesses are killed while they are alive. So I return my fairy godmother, but please give me a broom.