she, who entangles men
with her nectarine lips
and sinkhole eyes,
mouth full of sunsets,
curses and lies

she, daughter of Priam
who angered the gods
with her existence
turned her fate around—
an act of vengeance

she, retribution incarnate
blood spills in her wake,
mildewed flowers set aflame
planets mourn, forests weep
a prophetess crowned in burial wreaths

this time this will be no warning
no stones to throw
no witch burning

Image: Unsplash

And The Tortured Poets Department inspiration continues for Day 11 of NaPoWrimo where attempt to write a tall tale. Personally, this was hard to write since I’m not very good with hyperboles. I don’t intentionally use them often. I’m more of a metaphor/personification user.

I might improve this in the future, but for now here’s what I can come up with. Hehe.