Persephone was the daughter of Demeter, the goddess of the harvest, and was stolen away by Hades, the lord of the underworld. This is for her.

 

you need to understand that i am not weak

unlike most of the Greek pantheon i was not given my purpose at conception

it came later

somewhere in between my mother's embrace and my husband's grip

i am a product of the love i am given

and it is love i have received

he is my husband

and he loves me

even though the tone is cold

and his shoulders curl like whips and snap straight at disobedience

when his long pale hands reach for me something inside me still shatters

my mother doesn't understand

this is the strength of my love

here in the dark i am my own sort of ruler

born of the goddess of the harvest

bound to the lord of the underworld

i make nothing grow

i have never killed

i am the queen of the quiet

of thin women with papery skin that blooms necklaces made of his hand prints

the prayers offered to me are pleas for mercy

endless apologise for a minor transgressions

my acolytes move slowly and carefully around the eyes of stormy houses

and like all gods i am worshipped

men fall to their knees in tears before me

offer promises of redemption

apologies ripped straight from the depths of their souls

they buy me presents

make me meals

promise never again.

but they always do

and my followers always stay

it's not endearments or chivalry

but his eyes on my body

possessive

wraps around me like arms

his grip and hot breath

growling into my ear

you're mine

and i am

his

when i was little my mother would show me flowers

with hands as ancient as the dirt that coated them she would coax unwilling seed into growing

that is the strength of my mother's love

i want to show her the purple blossoms he arouses on my skin

my own garden

but she doesn't understand

they've named me weak

call me spineless

but i wield my own sort of strength

he is fierce

but there are days

weeks when he is nothing but soft sweet remorse

while my bones heal

only i can shape his molten hatred into something else as i press my body against him

his hands gripping my hip bones so hard they shatter

don't tell me that isn't power

he may love me like blades

but i love him like the flesh the yields beneath them

so to all the women who cannot leave him

bound by fruit or seeds or fear

i am the goddess that is given to you

there is only one myth i have to offer and it is not about me

my story has always been about him