Mimicry of Societies Face

What is this curve of grace the mimicry of societies face that my hands flutter and tuck in a feminine coy pretense? How have I become the mirror of copy print and my mind the Abyss of self doubt, When my ancestors were queens of battle? ….I have been strained of strength. In a filter of male perceptions I pose beneath a gaze I don’t remember choosing. Curse you Aphrodite. For your lies and deceit. For selling your hand maidens to the strike of Zeus’s lust. You have abandoned me. I have abandoned myself. Where is the audacity of my youth? While I tremble at the crones final stage? This was not to be my ending. Self-hatred and loathing. My own ineptness robbed My own inner furnace. My soul cold in barren wilderness My heart stolen, and purpose foregone. I’ve sold my sister coven For the silver in an enemies purse.