Cursed
He was off again managing
Someone else’s chaos
when she stood looking up
at impossible elegance,
rounded into ruby perfection,
dangling from the twisted branches.
There’s a pull from the forbidden
that’s hard to deny.
She knew the moment he
told her “No,” she wouldn’t listen.
Her entire existence was mysterious,
vague, and purposeless--
fashioned from leftovers.
What’s she here for anyway?
To clean up after him?
Fix their dinner? Wash the dishes?
He is off conquering beasts,
like some god.
She remains an accessory.
Nothing stirs up rebellion
quite like the feeling
of being powerless.
That’s when another guy came
sliding over to her,
alluring in his phallic majesty,
dark eyes acknowledging her own,
whispering she could be anything.
Seduced by curiosity, she reached up.
This is when all hell broke loose.
Pandora’s box spilled with the juice
dribbling down her chin.
Blood, agony, and death
escorted by knowledge,
potency, and power.
Her defiance would punish
her daughters.
It would also empower them.
Copyright © Heather Chandler | Year Posted 2020
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