My Awakening In the Presence of the Goddess

Quilled into the scriptures of the earliest greek mythology I was a girl. Beaten. She uttered this in the moonlight of my room Appearing on my balcony, atop my red sofa just as I was reading of her existence My literature books had spoken of her monsterous nature Yet as she hands me her wine Commands me to listen I cannot help but notice her eyes soft and kind Her presence, uplifting. Caring She warns me of her portraits of fallacy Urges me to read her gospel instead Shows me the chains on her wrists Her honor has been tainted through malice Her dress; once calm and cool Light; Is now ebbing in preparation of a storm As she rattles against her chains This is not the Aphrodite from my books This was a warrior Locked in a cage too slight for her fury I exist again Here to tell you my truth My voice and truths have been left out of the scriptures captured in paint cans sealed tightly with rusty metal lids tucked away behind a cob-webbed dusty shelf to be forgotten Because it was Man who got to write the stories of my birth They branded me woman. And got to define it what it meant When they saw things in me that didn’t mesh well they broke them off. Called my revolting a craze My mind, nothing but a storm Couldn’t even bother trying to comprehend it all together- that I could be bloody and beautiful, that I could be divine and approachable. But i was created only for your eyes to look only for your hands to lift to your mouth - In awe these days aphrodite wakes up In a perfectly silver bedroom. her hair down and wispy, her eyes tired Wearing a shirt that says feminist. Finally, I go against my nature, perch on a comfortable red sofa with a girl who calls me friend There’s a comfort here. That I haven’t experienced. The company of other women. I pass her my wine and tell her that there is some confusion About women, their heritage and Aphrodite And it’s time the truth takes the world by storm