Once upon a time

my pampered hands were clean of all troubles.

The only job in the day was to mock, 

to sneer and to taunt

that hideous girl scrubbing at my feet. 

My only worry being whether my dress,

silver and shining on silk, 

would woo the prince in the castle. 

Now my scraggly hands, 

void of all jewelry and fairness before, 

scour the dishes to shine like my rings once did. 

The fingers I pointed at the unwanted blonde

now bent from scrapping the pig pens. 

My perfect posture is now hunched over 

from weariness and wear. 

My days only pass by how exhausted I become.

Much like my strange step-sister, 

living in the castle of my dreams.