My dearest Cinderella,
your sisters can go fulfil their rite of passage
but you my dearest,
you will not go
you are far too precious
to paint over your face
to accessorise your petite stained body
and forge something beautiful.

No, my dearest,
not as long as I am here
are you going to sway
to bring home a prince
that knows you as but a
girl, in a blue dress,
in tiny glass heels.

Sweep in your misery
and cry yourself to sleep,
my dearest,
you are sewing your own clothes
and growing your own food.

Do not,
my dearest
listen to a Godmother
that moulds you to feed
a gaze that isn’t yours.

When your love meets you,
it will be here, my dearest,
he will get off his high horse
and dirty his feet
sweeping with you.

My dearest,
you can hate me until dawn,
you are not losing yourself
to that infectious ball.

Cover image by Reza Haji-pour رضا حاجیپور via Wikimedia Commons

Tasnim Sammak

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