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Medusa Shrugged

Daughter of fire,
With work-worn hands,
And blood of molten gold.
 
Do not sigh over dainty girls
in pale dresses.
Stiffen your spine,
Braid your hair out of your face.
 
You, daughter of Hera,
Daughter of Dissonance.
You will cradle every task,
that is set before you,
 
With the firm hands of a warrior.
 
Men will see the hard glint in your eyes,
they will mistake it for lust.
They will try and bend your iron-forged will
With clumsy hands,
And whispered promises.
 
Do not let them.
 
Sister of Artemis, patron saint of Circe,
Do not bow to the trappings of man-kind.
 
Make them see your truth.
If your voice doesn’t reach them,
Your Strength will.
 
Claw apart their thrones of iron,
With your “gentle” hands.
 
They will remember not,
that your face launched a thousand ships,
But that your might
 
Destroyed them.

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