This is a persona poem, where we had to take the point of view of some fictional or mythological character and tell a story from their perspective. I chose to use Cinderalla (the real version, not the disney).
The Step-Daughter
I hated her,
this fair-haired
golden beauty of
a step-daughter.
With every pious smile
And every gracious bow
I plotted her demise.
Not to kill her –
oh no, not kill her –
but to make her
filthy life as miserable
as she made mine;
to stop her ivory smile,
to muddy some of the flush
in her too-rosy cheeks.
My own beautiful daughters
- dimwitted and wretched
though they may be –
at first loved her as their own.
But as her beauty grew
with each passing day,
so to did their hatred.
They learned to hate her
as I have always.
I threw her in the cinders,
made her sleep on the hearth
with only the rodents to keep
company with.
But still,
dressed in an ashen kirtle
and rouged with dirt and muck,
still that awful beautiful smile glowed,
still her golden hair shimmered,
still that positively obnoxious charm exuded.
I will never know
how she arrived at the festival
dressed better than even I,
in a silver dress and golden slippers.
I will never know
how she charmed and bedazzled
that drunken prince into choosing her,
into making her his queen.
But as I sit here,
plucking lentils out of the cinders,
muck and dirt on my face
with only the rodents,
and my own conniving daughters
to keep company with,
I wish to God I had never laid eyes on her,
this evil gorgeous step-daughter
who now watches over me
with a smile in her eyes
and a sneer on her lips,
laughing tenderly.
This ugly beautiful girl
who I have ruined.
The Step-Daughter
I hated her,
this fair-haired
golden beauty of
a step-daughter.
With every pious smile
And every gracious bow
I plotted her demise.
Not to kill her –
oh no, not kill her –
but to make her
filthy life as miserable
as she made mine;
to stop her ivory smile,
to muddy some of the flush
in her too-rosy cheeks.
My own beautiful daughters
- dimwitted and wretched
though they may be –
at first loved her as their own.
But as her beauty grew
with each passing day,
so to did their hatred.
They learned to hate her
as I have always.
I threw her in the cinders,
made her sleep on the hearth
with only the rodents to keep
company with.
But still,
dressed in an ashen kirtle
and rouged with dirt and muck,
still that awful beautiful smile glowed,
still her golden hair shimmered,
still that positively obnoxious charm exuded.
I will never know
how she arrived at the festival
dressed better than even I,
in a silver dress and golden slippers.
I will never know
how she charmed and bedazzled
that drunken prince into choosing her,
into making her his queen.
But as I sit here,
plucking lentils out of the cinders,
muck and dirt on my face
with only the rodents,
and my own conniving daughters
to keep company with,
I wish to God I had never laid eyes on her,
this evil gorgeous step-daughter
who now watches over me
with a smile in her eyes
and a sneer on her lips,
laughing tenderly.
This ugly beautiful girl
who I have ruined.
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Thanks:)
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Oh, btw - "so to did their hatred" should be "so too..." -missed that one, didn't you? *g*
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I caught that right after I posted it, hehe.
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Would it interest you to know the original slippers were made of feathers, and due to a translation mistake they became glass in the first English language version?
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And thank you:)