The fantasy is broken,
where you and I ever possibly,
may be, might be, could be.
My insecurities rise
like the gates of a castle,
deep like the moat around it.
You were never supposed to be.
Intentions never meant to allow
any of this feeling in.
I am inundated, awash
with a terror filling my entire being
as realization that a mistake
has taken place.
Even if a moment in your presence
was allowed, I wouldn’t.
I am the scullery maid,
you are a member of the King’s court.

© Johanna Kaye Fugitt 2017