Medusa

She could embrace anyone,

If they didn’t look her in the eye.

They’d hug her, kiss her, enter her,

And maybe turn to stone.

She didn’t long for them, statues

Of flesh that didn’t mesh.

She couldn’t see herself. Couldn’t pronounce the word Beautiful.

Reflections of affections wasn’t her style

But if even just once she could smile

And see.

Kiss her lips on glass.

To do so was execution

In a broken institution.

She knew from the beginning

That the only forbidden love was to love herself.