By: Lily Mayo
He looked at me,
like my body was sculpted
of ambrosia and honey.
My voice flowed
like nectar into his mouth--
he guzzled every word,
and did not taste their meaning.
He saw my complexion but not my complexity.
He saw my body, but not my soul.
And claimed both belonged to him.
The gods praise themselves,
for placing us into an existence for which we did not ask,
and then expect us to break our bones for them.
I would have preferred the nothingness than being nothing.
So, I the roots wrap around my legs,
my skin harden into bark, and
my hair unfurl into little leaves.
The last slivers of my humanity slipped out my roots,
Taking my last thoughts with it:
He cannot devour my body.
He cannot taste my words.
There was a snap as I entered oblivion,
like scissors snipping red thread,
and branches breaking at his touch.
He crowned himself King with my leaves,
and the life I lost became his tragedy.
Lily Mayo is a young writer from, the hometown of Beyoncé, Houston, Texas. Her short stories have been featured in various reading anthologies and her poems are soon to be published in Beyond Words Magazine and The Dillydoun Review. You can find here @lilycatmayo on Instagram.