Poetry

Its almost time.
My sleeves drenched
by my sister’s sobs.
Its almost time to meet
my future husband.
The veil I wear
forces my head down
as if its a burden.

Aphrodite’s vengeance
has hit me, leaving its own
form of magical gaping face wounds.
Her mark chased off my potential
suitors, destroyed my chances with mortal,
human, normal men.
Now I shall climb that hill
the Oracle spoke about.

Its time.
My heart pulsates
As my march
Approaches the hill.
I can hear it in my ears,
Loud and obnoxious.
It blocks out my family’s
Concerned words.
The Oracle said a creature
Would take me as his wife.
Is he a monster?
I must assume so.

I should have stopped
going to temple during the rush.
I should have stopped
when they called me Aphrodite.
There’s nothing I can do now.
Goodbye, World.