Perseus was a pampered prick.

                           Yeah, you read it right:

                           Perseus, that popular Greek protagonist,

                           who was pursued by god after goddess,

                           given gift after gift,

                           was a pretentious git.

Don’t get me wrong;

I know, he was probably very strong,

likable, a charming demigod

who made all those around him swoon.


*tshh* …

all except me…

This is no ode to bolster his ego,

Nor a hymn to enhance his narcissism.

Yeah, I’ll give him this – his upbringing was a bit of a

Soap opera:

Two men

Wanted him dead.

Both kings:

  • A grandfather who was scared of him as a baby,
  • A stranger who wanted to marry his mother (without consent).

Sure – that sucks!

And it wasn’t exactly fair

When the latter demanded that the wedding gift be the head of a mortal monster,

But he might have been only speaking in… metaphors?

Not actually about poor Medusa

(Let’s keep this between you and me;

Thick-headed heroes – those battling brawlers – never take the time to know the difference).

… What did the gods have against her anyway?

Was it a fun little game, to hate someone so much?

Zeus’ provided a sword, or was it a sickle? Eh, who cares?

He supplied the sharp stabbing thing (details, details!).

Hades’ chipped in his helm of invisibility,

Athena – her shiny shield,

Hermes – his winged sandals,

And the Hesperides gave a bag

as if he were intending to go shopping for décor

instead of shoving a

decapitated head

in front of a king’s face  –  as proof of?


His own dangerousness?



had been


Her sisters – her only family – by her side.

She spent her time mostly minding her own business,

Sometimes turning wannabe murderers into marble.

And yet, the “hero”                          (/coward)

“slayed”                                         (/hacked away at)     the

“beast”                                          (/creature who couldn’t get any damn peace)    as

“it”                                               (/she) slept                          {now just a trophy}.

And guess what? Who mounted Medusa’s head?


Our Hero rode out on the newly born Pegasus. (already put to work I see…)

And of course! The hero is not complete without his convenient damsel, Andromeda.

Which is worse? To be dead – a toothpick for Cetus –

or to be the reward for a pompous, god-pimped man?

I guess she didn’t really get the choice in the end.

Perseus wasn’t the worst of them.

Heracles was the first to destroy Troy – because he was “disrespected”.

Theseus abandoned Ariadne,

 then abducted the twelve-year-old Helen of Sparta, with his good pal Pirithous

(and tried stealing away Persephone

 – here he was a little…

 less successful. Don’t tell him I told you, it’s still a bit of a sore spot).

What’s the point of being a hero if you’re not immortalized?

They all get turned into constellations,

Or have their stories carved in stone.

But what about Andromeda?

Ariadne? Helen?


Yes, nowadays they get a quaint little feminist piece written about them.

Quite like this one.

Maybe it’ll get published! How ‘bout that?

Giving those lovely ladies a voice, how kind!

After a couple, just a few thousand years, the women of history (

The destressed damsels

who are only there because they were paying the price of being so’n’so’s daughter;

The lovers who got lead on – then turned down;

The strangers abducted because they were unknowingly loved

) are getting a page for themselves. More than a footer note!

How considerate.

And Medusa?

Well, the poet just wanted to find a way to love the unlovable, didn’t he?

Ovid made it up. That whole little backstory bit

(sorry to mess up your debate).

She was never human.

She was never there for you to project your pity onto.

Her face was never ugly – it was petrifying (let’s be clear – there is a difference.

Cyclopes are ugly – dull, dim, drab; you know the kind).

We wanted a Medusa Rondanini, so the Romans sculpted her.

They missed the mark.

They took away the petrifying power. They-took-away-the-FEAR. TheymadeherOBSELETE.

Man just wanted more beauty. More. In the things He – teasingly – cannot have.

Maybe Man didn’t like being afraid of a woman.

Or maybe He didn’t like Her because She never let Him stay the night.

Who could honestly know what Man thinks?

The only real Medusa is the apotropaic kind.

The scary kind, the one-that-leaves-you-dreading-the-dangers-of-the-dark kind.

The one that even the mere glimpse of her reflection

would leave Perseus’ pants soiled.

The one you Men won’t admire.

And Medusa?

Dear Medusa, I think you ought to hear this:

I am still terrified of you.

Love, yours truly,

A poet from the 21st century.