twilight-isms have yielded a world

where love hurts and behind every

corner there is a would be billionaire

vampire waiting to sweep you off

your feet and carry you into his

dungeon of kink-dom making

your every wish come true so

fire up pinterest and get your

wedding dress on while

tagging your boards with cute-ish

baby gears and redecorate your life

with all the things your mother always

told you would require hard work and

at least a college degree

they don’t tell you

these romantic twists that

go best with spiked lattes

or carmel macchiatos that

after the big party

after the slow dances that last for

at least 10 months and the break ups

and the make ups and that hot

hanging from the chandelier (which isn’t humanly possible

given weight and gravity) sex that

when the big white (or pink if you prefer) dress comes off

when the sparkly too tight shoes get tossed in the back of the

closet only to be brought out as ‘remember whens’

you will land into the land of grocery lists and

mother-in-law host surprises where you are the

center of some kind of attention that feels more

like an intervention and it will be all about

your kitchen and that mister wonderful who

cleaned up so nice and won you over will want chicken

for dinner and lunch and possibly even breakfast and

you will be tired and happy and spent but there

will not be gravity defying sex every night and

he’s not a vampire or

even a billionaire and who the hell has

the resources to create an entire room dedicated

to kink-dom because your mother was

right a college degree is what you need to

get most your dreams air born so don’t get

so caught up in the fantasy that made someone

else a billionaire because the reality of loving somebody

believing in somebody and knowing that somebody

loves and believes in you even if all you’re looking

for is the right gel for that slick in the back of your head

that no amount of perm can correct

well

hell

that’s better than a spiked latte

any day of the week