I used to call you my white knight.
When we were five,
You saved me from the dragons in my backyard
And promised to make me your queen.

In time, you threw aside your
Plastic breastplate
And grew steel under your skin.
I always wondered whether you really felt no pain
In your new armor
Or if it simply kept the hurricane in your eyes from
Spilling out.

I dropped my tiara at the last show-and-tell
Before middle school.
The flexible plastic snapped on impact
And I learned to find a different kind
Of dragon: a dragon that breathed
sweet talk and empty promises
I learned to spar with my own words
I learned to stand my own ground
I learned to play carefully with needles
Never to accept fruit from strangers
And not to underestimate the utility of talking mice.

But sometimes
When the walls of my castle feel a little
Too thin
And the drawbridge shakes under my feet
I think I still need a knight
And I wonder if that hurricane has
Finally seen its
Rainbow.