no mortal blade can kill me

medusa grew serpents. daphne turned flesh into tree bark. i’d asked whatever gods for some mercy but no one is answering. i just am tired of changing to escape men’s hands. at what point do my bones break in just the right way to keep their eyes from bruising my skin. when have we bled enough. when have we died enough. the truth is, the myths tell the stories of women who had to splinter apart to survive. even athena’s mind was a fail-safe.

i feel about my father the way i feel about religion. and i mean that: i do not need it. i do not want it. other people may have it but i never will. 

and no one ever escaped death. just as I have never escaped you. you see at times all love feels like is a grave with rotting flowers and no visitors but the wind to kiss the engraved stone. at times all love feels like is a burial.