I always thought that she was beautiful. In a pinched, strained sort of way. Like something was holding her back, gnawing at her insides.
Now I know. I know because sometimes, I feel it, too.
Atleast my cruel mirror doesn’t talk back to me. Instead, I bear my pain in sapphire silence.
My poem, “Snow White’s Stepmother,” is now in Spudgun Magazine. You can read it here (see pages 30 and 31).