This week I ran,
I ran from home.
My father was cruel,
He treated me like,
A simple slave child.
I ran to a friends,
Trying to leave town.
We almost escaped,
Then he saw us,
He took me straight home.
Once we arrived,
I packed all my things.
As he begged me to stay,
He said something was wrong,
He wasn't sure what.
He went to the phone,
I ran out the back.
To my friends once more,
The cops have soon come,
They said, 'we can do not'.
So know here I am,
A run away girl.
No more treated as if,
I am Cinderella,
Without a kind prince.
But a prince I need not,
For I have many friends.
With many a true,
I hold them all close,
For I am Cinderella.
And one day I'll have my Prince.
Brianna Wilshusen
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/cinderella-20/
