persephone I was not built for olympus your gods could not sustain me too quick, my tongue grew weary of elixir and their nectar curdled in my stomach and in my head, clinging memory, clinging mothers clinging on for dear life as I fought my way through every perfect, uneventful day walled in by custom and tradition aeons, I longed for something bitter for juices that shudder and seethe with life you think you know my story you scholars and learned men, your eyes withered from dust and age you have been fed lies peddled hateful propaganda spewed on an olympic scale and handed down for centuries listen close - I was not stolen away I ran freely the pantheon that raised me they walk among men but they will never understand what it is to be bound to the earth a man- a god- who had stared down death been spurned by his kin; I would have loved him crownless, penniless, helpless simply for seeing me simply for freeing me loving me for being me and never will I forget, and never will I forgive what you have done to my story what you have turned our garden into because I did not align with your narrative, you changed mine. made me into a woman with no agency, shuttled between a mother and her captor for how could I have willingly turned down an adonis and traded my crown for wreaths? you know nothing of persephone she’s a darker soul than he
This poem was submitted to the White Lily Society for the limited time submission prompt “Death and the Maiden”.
Beth Bayliss is a queer, disabled poet who writes about her experiences with abuse, addiction, and her recovery from both. You can find her on her personal Instagram, @ bethtbayliss
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