You made a horrible mistake, and horrible things happened to you.
But did you realize something?
The world didn’t end.

The world won't end because of our mistakes,
But it might be easier that way because now
We have to own up to them.

If a blue ribbon is first place,
What does second place get?
Not the slight pity for third, nor the admiration of first-
So what do we,
Who are neither prized gems nor coal,
But simple rocks,get?
What do we in-betweens get,
But a shadow of a life?

They probably won’t apologize.
But the chance they will crushes many more hopes
Then if i was sure they would not be sorry.

“It’s fine,” they say.
It is not.
“You're okay now, and that’s all that matters,right?”
It is not.
You are not.
Nothing is okay.
And it might never be again.

Medusa combs her snakes back,
licks her lips,
crosses her legs on throne,
giggles,
sets her eyes on mine,
then opens her mouth,
souring the precedent she sets,
as a figure of merit.

Medusa says,
You better be the shape
Sent from the top down,
Obey, because
Medusa says,
You better hit the gym
Because you ruin
****** for everyone
You better obey,
because

The pantheon
you worship,
judges you
on high.

I did not choose for it to happen
I did not have a choice
But the gods
They do not care.

And so my hair is naught but snakes.

I came to this cave-
I had to eventually-
My only choice was when.

Still,  I chose the time of my own volition-
the people do not care.
They  blame me.
They say it was my choice to be struck
And drowned
And violated
In the temple I lived in.
They say i deserved the poison,
And they call me a monster.
The snakes may bite me,
But I choose who else they attack.

It is not my fault it happened.
The curse is not my fault.
The people, constantly attacking me and being killed for it-
It is their fault.
And it is the gods’ fault too.


The gods-
They do not care.
They send a boy to attack me,instead of doing it themselves.
Perhaps they feel guilty.

They do not care.

I cannot choose to die-
But I can choose when.
And so i open my eyes-

Foolish.
Used as an object, even in death.