The Temple of Our Lady.

Judith

Call me Circe, Hela, Magdelene
I who am the font of all possible sin.
Call me Helen, Thais, Joan,
Persephone
I who am the gate of ecstasy.
Sanitise me with sex and symbol
Pound my pain into the loam
(This earth is red; it will take but a thimble
More before the Old Ones groan).
The screaming selkies in the sea foam,
Banshees scheming, harpies teeming
Like ants over rotting flesh
Their bites redeeming—
All burnt in a flash of Patriarchal fire
And thus the emissaries of the Goddess
All expire.
Punishment for rape?
That shit’s ingrained into our culture
And so we see our mother Ma’at as this
Unholy vulture
When all She wants is justice.
What does justice even look like,
When you don’t have a dick?
Remember Philomena’s
Eternal singing night
Because of one rapacious prick.
So call me whore and Babalon
And collar me
And wonder why eternity
feels small and sad
And why the fertile blood tastes bad
And act bemused when all your womenfolk are mad
Because you caged the best chance at godhead you ever had.