I feel the old gods in me breathe. Subtle hands, contracting intercostals, feminine fingers that scream and wail when I let men with ill intent come near me - feminine fingers that announce themselves as Athena, Diana. Do you have a legacy? I feel Nefertiti, Osiris, Iris, clench their fists in my gut when I cry in my sleep and wake up angry - Hecate spits and twitches her paws when my undulating heart lacks the oil that flourished during her reign. Wings over me, the contorted body of Nike. Protective but irate. A shout, and a burst blood vessel in the corner of my eye - by the aging moon this tumult of Dido's wild ichor inside me grows... Have you ever used your voice? Athena's words in my head telling me to scream - Roar of the old gods telling me to run - Their tongues in the sand and in the grass blades. Child of flesh and hard times. An unknown voice from the mouth of my mother commands me - 'take firm grasp of the magic within you' Perhaps I am too afraid to reply.