A Cinderella Too

Why do they have to treat me so? Cover me up with a colourful wrap with no bow? Then place me on a shelf in somebody’s store, so that shoppers buy my cleansing agents and more. Why do I have fragrance so very sweet? Why must I undergo so many degrees of heat? One moment, I feel like oil, a gel or petroleum. Then be a bar, a powder or liquid with a different smell. Does anyone really care about how I feel? Housed me in a wrap that must be ideal, but sealed so tightly I can hardly sneeze, while insisting that I fight the battle of disease. Why do I have to endure such crap? They undressed me and discarded my wrap. They plunged me in water hot and cold then left me exposed on a sink, fancy! That is bold. Why must I be the Cinderella of the cleaning world and be placed in some machine to be tossed and twirled? Why do I have to be called by different brands and be touched by so many hands? My fragrant emissions are so carefully hidden, but the places I must be are never forbidden. The lather must be everywhere on body parts, animate or inanimate, I must be dear, there and everywhere

©Paterika Hengreaves/2002