"Tie back the snakes, please."

"I will not."

My youngest sister was a scourge.

"You know father can't stand to see them writhe," I said, perhaps because the strains on my own hair were paining me, and I didn't want to suffer alone. But mostly, I wanted her to know I was displeased. She always had to do things the way she preferred, and that was usually to our detriment.

"Medusa, you're such a child," Euryale breathed. Her own snakes were secured in a tight, tight bun. "This is why you will always be mortal. I hope you enjoy the finality of death."

"Quiet," Medusa hissed, her hair wild against our orders. "And for your credence, I will not die. You can hold me to that."

This was how it always was when we visited mother and father.

We stood at that same island that we met them at every year, the whirlpool slowly churning wider in the sprawl of the middle sea. They loved to make us wait, to challenge our patience because they could. Exercises of power were all they had now that we were far away from them. There was no question where Medusa got her demeanor, though the same was often said of Euryale and I.

Before long, the daunting form of our parents towered over us, half-submerged in the water as they looked down.

"Stheno," my father bellowed, "why is Medusa's hair like that?"

I scowled. Somehow, Medusa's problems always fell into my lap.

"You should probably ask her," I said, feeling my scalp strain as the rope of my own bun pulled taut.

"I take orders from no one," Medusa said, her arms folded. I could see cracks in her skin, made dry and unpleasant by the salted air. She stared up at our parents, sneering so her fanged teeth stood out. They glowered back, and the usualy stand-off between the three of them commenced.

"We are not here for pleasantries about your fashion," our mother said, her claws glinting in the twilight. "There is an urgent matter here, Medusa. Your death is upon you. The hero Perseus will come for your head."

"Let him," my youngest sister snarled.

"Foolish girl," my father said immediately, and thunder clapped on the horizon. I saw Euryathe twitch in my peripheral vision. "Your opportunities in this world are not infinite as ours. Unless you want to be a trophy for some man, you will evade him."

"I'd kill him first," she said, unfazed.

"Do not be so certain," our mother said. "This man is the son of Zeus. He has been sent by Athena. Powerful hands push him, and you have nothing but us to protect you."

Medusa laughed, loud and throaty, so much so that it nearly echoed off of the waves by its strength.

"Athena!" she cried. "A-the-na!" She sounded the syllables out like a foreign word. "A cow! A petty, deceitful old hag!"

I neglected to mention that our mother had been on this earth longer than the rather young goddess of war.

"Your mouth will not protect you when his sword is at your throat," our father said. He sounded strange, his voice was too quiet. It was as if he was realizing that this was useless.

"We shall see." Medusa stood defiant, her nose up high and barely deigning to give my parents her eyes. "In the meantime, I'd like to go home. If this is all we're here for, that is."

"Do you not value your life?" my mother growled.

"Of course I do," Medusa said. "It is your opinion that I'm not interested in worrying about. Thank you for informing me of what is ahead, but I can handle it just on-"

"Euryale," my father said suddenly. "Stheno." His voice became harsh and cold once more. "Protect your sister at all costs. There is a prize on her head, and it is high."

"Are we not at risk?" I said, speaking before I could think.

More thunder, louder than last time. My stomach churned.

"Your sister is more important, silly girl," he said. "She is the youngest."

"She is a brat."

The waves rose suddenly, splashing onto me hard.

"Be silent and do as you're told."

I had no more to say. I closed my eyes tight, eager to blame the salt if they asked why. Euryathe said nothing. There was no one to defend us but each other. There was no one to protect Medusa but my sister and I.

"Do as we've said," my mother said, and I heard the whirlpool swallow them again. I stood with my eyes closed still for a few moments more, silent.

"You're such an idiot, Stheno," I heard Medusa whisper. For the first time, her voice wavered. I opened my eyes and turned to her. Her shoulders were sagged, and Euryathe was hiding her face in her hands.

"That man is going to kill you," I said, trying to harden my voice. "I'm assuming that you don't want to die."

"I can handle him," she said, turning to face me. "Athena thinks she's so smart, born from the head of that pig. And now her little mortal brother is coming to my head. Hilarious." She scoffed, brushing dirt that wasn't there from her cloak. "Take out your snakes, you two look like matrons."

I'd nearly forgotten. Euryathe and I unleashed our hair, and I sighed as the tightness unwound.

"Athena controls war," Euryathe said. "Would you toy with Ares?"

"I would if he tried to get in my way," Medusa answered, stomping a sandal on the wet dirt of the island. "But that's not the point. Athena is petty. I refuse to let her win."

She touched a snake on her head, and I remembered Athena, who had gained her obsession with my sister after she was attacked in her temple. As if that had been Medusa's fault. My parents had been the same way when we were small, really -- everything came down to us. They never knew the words for apologies, especially not for us.

I stared at my little sister, who had a particularly small snake twirling around her index finger. She looked distracted, her dark eyes looking back at the sea that our parents had come from. The waves were choppy.

"You know," I said quietly, "she is a rotten soul."

She looked at me, the snake continuing to trace around her hand. I saw the smallest twitch on her lips, but nothing more.

"Isn't she?"

We knew we could never protect Medusa, not from the grasp of Zeus and Olympus. And no doubt, by their hand, she would be nothing but a shadow, an obstacle for their demigod hero.

It didn't mean that we couldn't make an effort. For once, I wanted to be different from the things that had led us to that cold, quiet island.

Her smile

Her teeth

Her eyes were like galaxies, big, dark and round.

I have made some discoveries,

She’s just like a rose

Gently swayed side to side  by the warm breeze on a moonlit September night.

Beating on a leather sleeve

Cries a crimson heart

Splashing notions here n’ there

Gushing out its guts

Now he can’t pull in a breath

Can’t bring himself to say

The telltale that will still it

And scrub the stain away

~Cotton

#Love #Poetry #Heartbreak

I walked thru hell with bare feet

Came out the other side

Spitting rage and fire

The demon within me awakened

Ready to save me at any cost

Protection from the pain of this world

I walked thru hell all alone

Tired and frightened and cold

I was born of barbed wire and lace

Of searing heat of the fire

And the salt of the ocean

I was born of a love that will never know deaths

And you were cold.

And I thought I could heal you.

I thought I could wrap you up in my arms and pour my warmth into you.

I try to fix the damaged.

But you, you were past the point of fixing.

And I was to worn to notice.

-I tried to be your miracle

Nude descending a staircase, yeah right.

I would never. Not even if I was alone, at night,

And you paid me. I hate my body. I can’t even get dressed without crippling anxiety and

Well what if.

Let’s see-nude descending a staircase. For me?

Puckered and sculpted calves leading up to thick, full thighs. You can see the cuts of muscle

Though they aren’t professional thighs. Then, a beautiful set of hips, they sit there. Clear curves protruding from the rest of my torso. They aren’t strong, hard muscle. That’s funny, hips aren’t meant to be that way. Mine are no different-thick and soft, beautiful grips for a man who will love me someday. Then my stomach, my middle, my torso, my most hated spot in all the world, my hell. But it is fitting for my body-not too big and not too small, but just right. Soft yet shapely, contouring a bit with some muscle underneath, but not perfect. Perfect for me, perfect for eating and living and perfect for descending nude down a staircase. Beautiful. Rising up to my breasts, which I always think are too big, too fatty and awful looking. But they sit stately and ornate, the right size when you take me all in. Not too big or too fatty or even awful. They are just breasts, you know. And then my collar bone and neck. I’ve never really noticed them. They kind of just sat there, but now-now they are my crown, small jewels that you don’t notice on a swarovski bracelet until the light catches them. Defined collar bone but not pronounced, with a swan-like curve rising over it to support my oval face and waterfall curls. My face is the first thing you’ll look at when I descend nude on a staircase. More likely, my eyes. Almonds with milk chocolate, warm brown eyes topped by arched, dark brows begging you to ask me anything. My nose is too big, isn’t it? But here it compliments my face, it’s romanesque bridge making me appear regal, even. And my smile lines and bags under my eyes, well, where are they? They disappear in my blush at being nude descending a staircase, my fanning eyelashes, and my dazzling smile. You see those bumps and acne scars on my forehead but in all this arrayed presentation you need a little texture to the skin, a little sign that you are raw, untouched, because you are real. Atop my head is the bee’s nest-I hated my curly hair and always wanted it out of the way, but now I see how it falls down my back, over to the side, gracefully. A gorgeous brown with honey colored highlights naturally corkscrew into waves gliding down my bare skin. You would like to see it untreated, unbound like this. I know I would. So a nude descending a staircase. But we are descending and I am a human being so you see the back too. Mine is long, with that graceful curve of my spine that seems to be so aesthetically appealing to artists of ages old and new. It is a natural flow to the base of my spine, where my bottom curves in two full, muscular hills of flesh. I worked hard here and you can see the proof. I might have once glanced at the feel of the skin-some cellulite dotted the curves, and hated them. But now? Now I love them. They are mine and they are quite a thing to show off, it we’re all being honest. So I walk, down those stairs, timid but confident in this machine that is my body. Strong, and soft, and built to perfection because it is mine. I accept this. I will do the unthinkable, I will be the nude descending a staircase.

And you won’t have to turn the lights off, or pay me. I’ll do it for free. I’ll do it when the sun is shining. I’ll even do it with an audience.

Isn’t nakedness beautiful?

***

I fed the sky a nightmare and it spat it back at me. / I sang us both a lullaby that cursed the whole city. / I prayed the rosary and its cross cut me to the bone. / I reached my hands up high but only caught a falling stone. / I ventured a confession; no one cared to hear my plight. / I left the church and sacrificed my spirit to the night.

***

#poetry

#newage

#religion

#challenge

Don’t bother shaving your legs. Unless you really, truly enjoy that part of your routine and look forward to it each day. You don’t have to be a fashion model to be beautiful, and hairy legs are far from ugly. The little hairs evolutionarily keep us warmer, and even though we now have pants, my legs still get cold in winter. And they provide a nice, cooling breeze in the summer, even if the sensation takes a bit of getting used to.

Be strong enough in yourself to be able to look past the rituals expected of modern women and determine if they really matter to you. If they do not, drop them. Be strong enough also to withstand the silly judgments of women and men- they have no right to try to define you with their opinions. Society does not define you, you define it.

The car pulls into the driveway. She opens the door and there is a whooshing sound as if a speding bullet flying out of the vehicle. I sigh. It wasn't a bullet. I watch her stumble out of the car, pulled by a red leash and the monster pulling it.

Come on, Marley.

She says after trying to drag the dog to our house.

Really? Like the guy from the Christmas Carol?

I ask and lift an eyebrow. I wasn't really seeing this situation in very bright colors. Joan looks up and sends me a dirty look. It's 5 degrees below zero and I can still see her sweat from all the effort. Hey, she did want a dog. Well, she got it.

Yes, exactly from there, Meg. Don't look so doubtful.

Hmm, at least you didn't name it after that movie with Aniston.

It was based on a book.

It doesn't matter. You ended up in hours of tears after it. That's what I remember the most. Besides, it's a name for a boy.

No, it's not. And the name works just as good for a girl.

She says and scratches the dog behind an ear. I close my eyes for a moment, trying not to imagine all of the damages in the house that were surely on their way.

Megan?

I open my eyes and stare at her. I was gonna be tough on this. All her charms were not going to work this time, no extra points for her curves or the intensity of her eyes... even if they were what got us the puppy in the first place. I look at the beast. My eyes linger on the chocolate brown fur. On the big round eyes. On all that drool - and I wonder if we should have named the dog: Beelzebub. The puppy growl at me. Yeah, sounds about right.

Yes, dear?

I say sarcastically. She leaves the dog while it starts to sniff around as if its sole mission was to learn all the smells in the neighborhood. Joan walks up to me, wraps her hands around my neck and stares at me. It was the exact stare number one, that the puppy served us at the pound. I narrow my eyes but before I can do anything, she stands on her fingers and kisses me. I lower my head slightly. My lips linger on hers. My hands in red gloves, wrap themselves around her waist. She starts to giggle. She knows that she already won. I growl and kiss her again. She moves back.

Grow up, Megan. We just got a hairball for our little family. Think that you can deal with that?

I look at the dog. It starts to chew on out house-mat.

Yeah. I think I can deal with it. Only if later I will get a different Christmas gift?

I give her a meaningful stare. She smiles back. Let the Christmas begin.

Love

what is it?

i think back to the

times that she held my hands

holding them really tight

- ‘It’ll all be all right~.’

Love

what is it?

the moments where she

reminds me to at least carry

a sweater, or jacket to keep

me nice, and warm, toasty

Love

is her

the things She does

her acts of unwavering

compassionate & undying affection

towards not only me, myself ‘n’ I

but to us all— Her dear ones, beloved.

#Love{luhv}.

#WhatIsLove?