This poem originally appeared on my Patreon in 2017.
You Have to Leave Themyscira
In the beginning, you molded me from clay,
whispered your prayers in my ear:
please, Zeus, send me a daughter:
one who will redeem me, in whom I can see
not the woman I have become,
but the woman I have always believed I should be.
But it wasn’t the king of the gods who made me.
You did that,
and the making was war.
You waged a campaign
over years, a systematic siege
meant to stamp out (the signs of yourself in) me
coupled with retail therapy:
buy it ‘til you like it. Only the fiercest among us
can wield perfection,
and that is not you, but by the gods, it will be.
You fought me,
pitted me against your enemies:
your envy, your guilt, your fear,
and you tightened the reins ever more closely
the closer I got to victory.
They do not deserve you, child who is no child,
who carried you on her back from the womb,
who mothered the mother who bore her.
Who lived to make you queen?
I left you
without a word,
without a look goodbye,
cloaked in the darkness whose language I spoke
though you’d told me never to look her in the eye.
You thought it didn’t break my heart. You thought I had no heart to break.
You (I) have always been my greatest love,
I (you) have always been my sorrow.
I didn’t reply. You’ll live:
but I will never return.