• They will honor you, Medusa,
    When you cease to honor yourself.
    They call on you to hush,
    Veil your murderous beauty.
    Keep silent and safe.

    Violated, you spun silk
    To serpentine poison.
    Your fury broke their mold;
    Your body sang your rage.
    Turned them to stone.
    Made them hard,
    Made them ache.

    This is not the virtue,
    That old male root,
    celebrated by poets and priests;
    So they did not love you.
    Weaponless, they turned you against yourself,
    By your reflection silenced and immobilized.

    They branded your power immodesty,
    And your appearance promiscuous.
    They made your body your enemy.
    To be contained, reduced,
    Captured, corseted, closeted.
    They made your heart sick, an invalid.
    Subject to anesthesia.

    Prisoner to their own polished shield,
    How they tremble.
    Tremble
    That you might break your gaze
    And turn your eye upon them.