Under this dim bathroom lighting /
a spectre looming / my face leers
bathed in ochre-tinted darkness /
My flaws can hide in these shadows /
While I am not coated in foul soot /
charcoal from the fireplace ashes /
I am still unclean / tainted by imperfection /
fire roaring against the mirror glass /
These blemishes are my cinders /
but at least I can paint some semblance
of a face / concoct normalcy
with my arsenal of cheap lipstick and eyeshadow /
I cake my face / in a desperate attempt /
to suffocate my lips eyes and nose /
smothered / stuck in a beautiful scream /
A cacophony of stepsisters jeers inside my head /
Staring into mirrors / I see them:
just slimmer, clearer, brighter versions of myself /
A siren song of temptations / of criticisms /
their beautiful smiles hypnotize my thoughts /
My godmother doesn’t sing to me /
doesn’t dry my tears / or smile
with her bluebird-colored eyes /
she, too, is only my stepmother in disguise /
Her finger jabs through swirling glass
of this mirror / and towards the corner /
where a pair of glass slippers wait /
heels rise like silver needles /
They glimmer like jagged ice /
like when the sun reflects
across the desert / to form a glittering mirage /
and I reach out to brush the glass
with eager fingertips /
“Ha! Your feet are too big
to be seen as beautiful.
You cannot fit in those shoes,”
croons my reflection.
And I smile / “Who said I ever intended to wear them?” /
I take one glass slipper / glittering like sweet starlight /
and lunge at my reflection /
glass breaks / showering like diamonds /
and I am caught in a swirl
of shooting stars /
I am Ella / cinder-free /
Ella / covered in magic /
in swirls of sapphire and brilliant silver /
Ella / crying because finally
my stepsisters are silent /
and I am beautiful /