The Other Shoe

(Cinderella)

The perspective of Anastasia- the ugly stepsister only trying her best.

They call me wicked.
That’s the tale-
A jealous heart, a face grown pale.
A name in footnotes, nothing more-
The bitter girl who slammed the door.
But stories love a perfect light,
And cast the rest in black and white.

I wasn’t born to songs or light,
No fairy tale, no crystal night.
Just corset laced and lessons learned-
To want was fine, but only earned.

She had the aura, the golden air,
The kind of grace that wasn’t fair.
While I was taught to bite, to strive-
To scratch just hard enough to thrive.

She glowed without a single try,
While I stood back and wondered why.
Was it so wrong to seek a throne?
To dream of not being alone?

They saw me sharp, they saw me cold-
A girl too loud, a bit too bold.
But I was only reaching high,
In rooms where quiet girls go dry.

I wasn’t cruel, at least not first-
Just tired of always feeling worse.
Of being "less," of fading in-
While others, with no effort, got to win.

She had the birds, the mice, the chance,
The magic dress, the perfect dance.
And I? I had a mother’s push-
"Be more," she said. "Don’t be a bush
That hides behind the garden gate-
Be seen, or you’ll be sealed by worse fate."

They call me jealous, too selfish, too mean,
But I was only trying with all my might-
To be more than a shadow in her perfect light.
Trying to matter, trying to be seen,

I tried that shoe- it didn’t fit.
I laughed too loud. I played my wit.
Maybe it was never meant to be .
Maybe I was made for leather soles and blistered heels.
For running not of waltzing,
For a life of competing and losing.
But when he looked at her, not me,
I felt the weight of what I couldn’t be.

So yes, I tried. I fought.
I played the game.
And still, they only learned my name
To whisper it with curled disdain-
As if ambition were a stain.