Rebekah

sometimes, i lay my head against my mother’s chest. i think. gaze up at her. and this time, when i look at my mother, i see. i see a powerful woman. she is nothing short of beautiful.

There are hundreds

Of thousands

Of wings in our world,

Each one a simple perfection

Dancing in the spotlight

Of the sun,

My skin is a sentiment of disgust and treachery, instilling trepidation to the untrusting, embedding guilt throughout my spine. I cannot stand.

I am an enigma; forever stepping in front of mirrors attempting to angle myself in the perfect position to be loved; always making myself smaller than I seem in order to be seen.

i will meet you on the soiled floor with splintered knees and pointless pinkie promises, bearing the gruesome girth of your loveless little lies / forever fighting to quench my thirst, but your roots will always remain sodden / they say

Persephone was tired. Tired of being nothing more than the daughter of a nearly forgotten goddess, of being a sweet innocent nymph, a girl content to frolic in fields under the sun.