Stories after fable

Stories after the fables

I don't want to be the girl
pursued by the bear,
chased through the pines,
scraping her knees.  

I don't want to stand in a tower,
awaiting hair to touch ground,
nor give up my sound
nor my tongue nor my gills.  

I don't want to be a girl  
who sleeps a thousand years,
and still hears the brambles
taking their roots.  

And I don't want another fable,
some non-consenting hero,
who mindlessly charges,
vacant of face.  

I want the other hidden stories,
ones of the witches
who howl in the night  
from their deep, wounded pit.  

I want every fire tale,
the dragon to fly on,
the island of haven,
to have charisma and wit.  

I want every castle
but not as a prison,
as a boundary of spirit,
as if warm ghosts haunt each hall.  

And then we'll drown all the fables,
in their weakness and plot hole
and after make new ones
where we can finally be free.