Whose smile tore down Troy , whose face launched 1000 ships Who brought armies to their knees and cities to the ground .
Instead she celebrates Medusa in all her glory Crown of snakes hissing and spitting in the air Her stony glare and righteous fury Piercing the men who came for her , who tried to take things that weren ’ t offered , Turning them into stone as cold as their hearts .
She memorialises Clytemnestra Picturing her ruminating for years over Iphigenia Imagining her destroying lordly Agamemnon Rage as red as the river of blood around her Her right to vengeance finally attained .
Persephone , daughter of the sky , queen of the underworld Discontent with flowers and bored of trees and grass Revelling in the power of death and decay , Frolicking with fawn in meadows above Commanding demons and snarling hellhounds below .
When will they learn ? These women were never seductive , manipulative , promiscuous Just too powerful for mere mortals to contain , Those men feared what they could not control So they rewrote the story .
Hunched over the page , she scratches away Her sacred duty to write Because who else will ? So she does , She writes .
Keya Srinivas Winner of the Year 9 Verve competition
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