Because Love Is Enough

When Ovid bent his mind to speak of bodies changed into new forms,

he never expected the most monstrous of those forms to be grateful.

"Look at you now, wicked woman - who could want a wretch like you? Even lustful Poseidon left you long ago; no one could want such a monster," you gloat, satisfied in your victory over my impiety.

But you don't realize, dear vengeful goddess, that Poseidon was never right for me to begin with.

Sure, I was happy with him; sure, I was more than willing to be with him; sure, I loved him.

But if he could so easily cast away from my shores when my hair turned to snakes, then perhaps the anchors of his love went only so deep as the roots of my beautiful fibers. I do not want a cold, aloof, lustful god to love my form and scorn my heart. Those poor souls who are beautiful to the gods in form alone are never driven to ends so happy that wretched I might envy them; I prefer a more honest love.

I do not want Apollo to chase my young, supple body through the woods, heedless of my words, until thick, cracked bark shields my heart from his greedy eyes. I want Philemon to hold my aged, cracked body tight, smiling at my words, until timeless, supple bark shields our love from Time's greedy grasp.

I do not want Aurora to beg my life forever only to lose interest when the youth she forgot to secure for me fades from my recognizable face and leaves me the withered visage of a cricket, not beautiful,not wanted. I want Alcyone to weep for my life even when the angry waters of the sea have swollen my youthful face past recognition into the aged visage of death.

I do not want Selene to lull me to sleep so that my words will not distract her from my beauty. I want Psyche to love my words in the dark so that my beauty will not distract from our love; but I want a Psyche who does not listen to her sisters, because her love is blind, not deaf, and she hears my heart full well without seeing my face; I want a Psyche who will not bother to light a lantern because love is enough, whatever shape my hair may take.

No, I want no Poseidon to cradle perfect curls and take me in my goddess' temple and love my body only to spurn my heart in the morning when that beautiful body no longer holds him a slave to lust.

I am no queen; I do not want a slave. I seek only a lover.

And so, when Hermaphroditus finds me in my dark outcast's hideaway and kisses the beautiful snakes on my head as we share the hatred of society and the words of lovers, I do not bother to light a lantern because love is enough, and the forms of our bodies do not change what is in our hearts.

A/N: Inspired by Rachel Wiley's awesome slam poem, "Gorgon," which everyone should watch!

Reviews always gratefully accepted. :)