“Some stories say that Hades kidnapped Persephone while she was picking flowers in a meadow during spring, married her, and tricked her into staying with him for six months by having her eat six pomegranate arils. Others say they fell in love with each other, were willingly married, and that she ate those six pomegranate arils because she couldn’t bear to stay away from him for a whole year. Isn’t that a more romantic side of the story than the original?” she remarks, splitting open a pomegranate and picking out its seeds.

“That’s just a silly notion. The gods and goddesses of the ancient Greeks and Romans had nothing better to do with their time, so they created fake deities to occupy their time,” he replies, opening a bottle of honey wine and taking a sip. “Besides, if I was Hades and you were Persephone, I wouldn’t want to spend any second away from you even more than I have to.”

He leans over, buries his head into her shoulder and breathes in her scent. “What would you do if you were her?” he asks.

She smiles. “Pomegranates would be the only fruit I’d eat for the rest of my life.”

I wish nothing but the best for my friends

And yet I can’t do the same for myself

I’ve learnt to put them on a pedestal

And me at their feet to serve them

Now I’m trying to unlearn the things

I’ve been forced to absorb

I’m getting rid of the pedestals

And standing up

So that we may be equals together

We stand together

We fall together

We help each other up

Let’s grow together

I wanted to feel beautiful

So I ate nothing but roses

So that I could absorb their beauty inside

And blossom outside

Instead

Their thorns tore my throat apart

And I died with roots entangled with my ribs

“Some stories say that Hades kidnapped Persephone while she was picking flowers in a meadow during spring, married her, and tricked her into staying with him for six months by having her eat six pomegranate arils. Others say they fell in love with each other, were willingly married, and that she ate those six pomegranate arils because she couldn’t bear to stay away from him for a whole year. Isn’t that a more romantic side of the story than the original?” she remarks, splitting open a pomegranate and picking out its seeds.

“That’s just a silly notion. The gods and goddesses of the ancient Greeks and Romans had nothing better to do with their time, so they created fake deities to occupy their time,” he replies, opening a bottle of honey wine and taking a sip. “Besides, if I was Hades and you were Persephone, I wouldn’t want to spend any second away from you even more than I have to.”

He leans over, buries his head into her shoulder and breathes in her scent. “What would you do if you were her?” he asks.

She smiles. “Pomegranates would be the only fruit I’d eat for the rest of my life.”

When I was younger,

I became obsessed with the stretch marks on my legs.

Now that I’m older,

I’m more obsessed with the scarred lines on my arms.

I wonder, when I became obsessed with lines?

Was it when I was young and growing out of my baby fat

And into a more mature body,

And these lines on my thighs appeared?

Or was it when I saw sharp red lines on my friend’s wrists

And thought it would look better on me instead?

Everything that comes out of my parent’s mouth involves money.

They made sure I knew that I was a burden to them

And that I should’ve known to leave them alone.

“Everything bad that happens to us

Is because of you.

Because you were born.

Because you were born a first-born daughter.

You made us waste 25 years’-worth of money on you.

As if you deserved it.

Your brother was born lucky.”

They kept a record of finances from the day I was born

To the present.

Marking down all the times they spent money on me,

Including diapers,

Baby food,

School supplies,

Rent for my apartment during college,

All the expenses when I was abroad.

They told me that they control me until the day they die,

Or until the day they sell me to a husband to control me.

And that before they die,

I have to pay back every single penny that they recorded.

So that they know I wasn’t a waste to keep.

They told me to have twin grandsons.

To make up for my birth.

As if I asked to be born.

I no longer know how to respond to kindness.

I’ve spent so long responding to fists and harsh words,

I don’t know what to say or do when met with kindness.

Do I embrace it?

Or do I run away and hide,

Like how I’ve been doing for the past 25 years,

Too afraid to face the outside world.

You looked at me like I was an ethereal being.

You worshiped my body with shaking hands,

As though my body was the holy land,

And you were in the presence of a god.

You whispered sinful confessions onto my lips,

My hips were the altar.

You got wine drunk between my legs,

The sweet nectar dripping from your lips.

You swallowed my moans and breathless pants,

As though they were a prayer you were dying to recite.

The moon bathed us in her soft glow,

And as I opened my eyes after coming down from cloud nine,

I realized as I watch you catch your breath,

It was you who was a god in human form,

And you transformed my body into the holy land

In which you built your home.

In that moment,

Time was forever frozen.

I always wonder why people say “I love you to the moon and back”.

That’s a finite distance.

(477,710 miles to be exact).

Why would anyone limit themselves to a fixed number?

That’s not how much I love you.

That doesn’t even come close to how much I love you.

The universe is infinitely expanding;

That’s how much I love you.

Morning

I woke up,

Giddy with excitement,

Because you are the first thing I see when I wake up,

The best thing that’s ever happened to me.

Noon

The sun is at its zenith in the sky,

As passionate as our bodies are between the sheets pressed together,

We were so high that we could see the gods on Olympus,

We challenged Zeus and Hera for their place as king and queen.

Afternoon

We flew like Icarus,

Our love soon burned up from getting too high, too quickly,

Too close to the sun,

Our love falling apart like Rome.

Evening

The fall shattered us into pieces,

Unable to be sewn back together,

You saw a pretty nymph and followed her,

And I was left to pick up the pieces of my heart, alone.

Night

I wonder how many names you’ve marked off your list,

I wonder which pretty nymph graces your bed tonight,

Which one sings most beautifully in bed.

I wonder if I’ll even make it through the night.