for millenia her kind were treated as serpents,
always hiding, scheming, "witches" they cried for centuries.
always eternal was medusa, watching from shadows cast upon
her everglowing face.
her kind never understood the torment,
but it was seldom questioned.
desperate to spark the flame that bloomed the flower of change,
she was cursed to watch from an empty meadow.
decades pass, a new age has sprung.
the revolution has finally begun.
but the grime from entitled figures still stains the skin
of the innocent and unprivileged.
serpents skim the edge of her ear as she stands in an alley,
watching two young girls play ball in the street.
her head hisses as a figure approaches, suddenly her
body burning and ears ringing from lustful talk and unsolicitated intimacy.
accustomed to this,
she slowly turns, eyes glowing as her hoodie falls to reveal
her companions. eyes locking, the talk seized.
the devil fell silent.
but this is only a myth.
instead, her legacy falls on half of the planet,
the women who stand to fight against oppressive regimes,
who work to dismantle the system that seeks to hold them captive
under the guise of protection and priviledge.
they always said she had a rock hard gaze,
but her eyes only reaked of determination.
and to them, that was terrifying.