Cinderella Didn’t Live Here
no glitter, no wand, no fairy?tale help.
Just me — the woman who handles it all,
cleaning the kingdom they leave to fall.
I cook the meals, I scrub the pans,
I fold the laundry with burning hands.
I wash the dog, I sweep the floor,
I’m the one resetting chaos once more.
I pick up trash they pretend ain’t there,
clothes on the carpet, socks everywhere.
I say “wipe it down,” I say “put it away,”
but I’m repeating myself every damn day.
And the toilet seat — don’t get me started.
I’ve fallen in cold like my soul departed.
I work all day, come home to more,
haven’t even sat down before—
I hear, “Can you do this?” “Can you do that?”
while I’m still holding laundry in a bag.
No glass slipper, no royal ball,
just me doing everything, carrying it all.
But let me tell you something they never wrote:
Cinderella wasn’t soft — she stayed afloat.
She cleaned, she cooked, she carried the load,
but she still walked herself out that road.
And me? I’m her sequel — the one with teeth.
The woman who’s tired of being beneath.
I’m done being the maid they rely on for free,
done being the backbone they refuse to see.
I’m the woman who rises from grime and grit,
who says “I matter” and means every bit.
I’m the Cinderella who snapped the broom,
who kicked the dust right out the room.
No prince required, no midnight fear.
Just me — the hero of my own damn year.
The woman who finally slammed the door,
and said, I’m not your maid
anymore.
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This poem is me finally saying out loud what I’ve been living every single day. It’s the truth about being the woman who does everything — the cleaning, the cooking, the laundry, the dog baths, the trash, the clothes on the floor, the toilet seat that somehow never goes down. It’s the story of me coming home from a full day of work and still not sitting down because I’m picking up everybody else’s mess. It’s me being tired of repeating myself. Tired of saying “wipe it down,” “put it away,” “I just cleaned that,” “please don’t leave the seat up,” and nobody hearing me until I snap. It’s me realizing I’ve been the maid, the cook, the cleaner, the fixer, the finder, the everything — and nobody even notices until they need something else from me. And that’s where the Cinderella part comes in. Because people love to act like Cinderella was soft, like she was just some sweet girl waiting on a prince. But no — she was a woman doing everything for everyone, carrying a whole house on her back, and still finding the strength to walk out when she’d had enough. That’s me. I’m the modern Cinderella — but with more attitude, more backbone, and way less patience for grown people acting helpless. This poem is me saying: I’m tired. I’m strong. I’m done being taken for granted. I’m done being the only one who sees the mess. I’m done being the one who fixes everything while everyone else relaxes. It’s me choosing myself. It’s me putting the broom down. It’s me saying I’m not the maid in this house — I’m the woman who keeps it running, and I deserve respect. This poem is my fire. My boundary. My “I’m not doing this alone anymore.” It’s the moment I stop being Cinderella in the kitchen and start being Cinderella who walks out the door and saves herself.
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Basically a lot of complaining
no it's me setting boundaries
The poem is about being taking advantage of by people you love it's about respect it's about working together not being the one who keeps picking up and it never can remain clean for more than an hr maybe if you had people who walked all over you then you could relate to this so called complaining