Who is to Blame?

The beauty strolls through the campus,

 oblivious of her power.

Boys flock around to behold her,

yet she is blind to the throng.

She concentrates on classes.

To her the department head is the great Goddess of Wisdom,

So she trusts for a guided path.

Marine life is a requirement she is instructed to learn.

She thrives there, as with any class, but the professor wants to meet.

Without a worry she complies, expecting a brighter way,

But she is disillusioned by the man’s comportment.

She confidence in him is broken.

Her pleas for help, his hand stifles.

Her will is taken;

her choice is gone.

She cries and begs but to no avail.

When he is done, she runs away.

Afraid she sits;

Distraught,

Alone.

Unaware of where to turn,

Unaware of who to trust.

Her memory flows to her goddess,

Who else but her can she trust?

With haste she flees to her salvation,

Hope bubbling in her chest.

With tears she reveals her plight;

With hope she opens her heart.

Her tears are vain,

Her hope for not.

Her calloused idol declares,

With her skirt so short,

Her shirt so low,

She is the one at fault.

Rumors fly, students gossip,

Until she believes their lies.

Her beauty withers, until she becomes a shell.

Until she becomes a hideous gorgon.

Her cold regard will freeze a life,

Making them statues of stone.

Her dark curls became as wild snakes,

Untamed and dancing in the breeze.

Was her skirt too short?

Was her shirt too low?

Of course not.

She was never to blame.

Blame lies with him who doesn’t understand no.

She did not know she’s not the first,

And she won’t be the last.

Who is this unfortunate girl?

She could be anyone, anywhere.

But her name is,

Medusa.