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The Queen of Her Own Castle - Spoken Word - I Married a Lost Boy (Fantasy)

 


The Queen of Her Own Castle

(Spoken Word)

I MARRIED A LOST BOY 


Impossibility.

Probability.

Of falling in love.


Was he the love of my life?

Or just the picture I painted

in my neurodiverse mind?


The teenage me—

in love with the lost boy,

long-haired,

a character.


I toyed with boys,

but didn’t care.

Landed one—

but he wasn’t there.


A baby at eighteen.

What did I know?


Then you walked through the door.

My vampire.

My teenage dream.

My long-haired lost boy.


I fell to the floor.


Was this true love?

Or just the man from the movie?

My wet dream.

My fan fiction.

My fascination.


My Rolodex brain stored it well.

I studied that film like scripture.

Saved him in my Rolodex—

Man who will give me survival.”


Was it love?

Or a pattern I stitched

from the haberdashery at thirteen?


The vampire.

The warrior.

My Pride and Prejudice stress.

My time-travelling fantasy.


No mood board needed—

it came from deep within.


I recreated the picture

of my teenage dream.


Now I call him my ball and chain.

Impulsivity.

Craziness.

Promiscuity.

There could’ve been many men.


But my brother brought him through the door.

He ticked boxes.

That’s what life was meant for.

Thirty years later—

not quite the dream.


But we raised two fabulous children

in a neurodivergent stream.

No internet.

No therapist.

Just us.


Back to the movies.

Back to my Rolodex brain.

I’m Sarah from Labyrinth again.


The princess became a queen.

Living her own dream.


She fell to the floor—

dusty like a rug.

But she dusted herself off.


Put up a barrier.

To protect.

To heal.


She runs her castle now.

With warriors.

Delegates.

She shares the sparkle.

She learns.

She grows.

She glows.


She learned about Neurodiversity.

ADHD.

Autism.


Letters that explain

why she took so long

to learn the alphabet.


Does she need a diagnosis?

Absolutely not.

Do the letters help?

Maybe.

Maybe not.

Do they define her?

Absolutely fucking not.


She has peace of mind.

She wasn’t just “too much.”

She wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea.


Whether you sip coffee, gin, or wine—

She’s here.

She’s fine.


Footnote - Fantasy and fiction - Remember I am an artist 

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