Galatea, Muse, and I
Pygmalion,
was it my body
or was it my mind
—what drew you to me?
tell me the truth; after the awakening
your hips had swayed
waltzing,
twirling
unravelled, and I
had everything I wanted
supposedly—
you swore me an eternity.
to me that only meant trading my ivory
prison for a gilded cage
while to you it was devotion—
Aphrodite bore our thirst for control,
why did I trust your intent?
I was born to do so,
as a vessel of your visions,
and I could not be anything
but, heavens,
your conceptualized darling—
you demanded I be selfless, wholly
—yet perfection
did you love me—
when you chiseled away my flaws?
when I was there first?
she is, after all, my mirror.
your eyes were laden with desire,
holding this waifish waist—
guiding this tacit tempo—
I, my heart whittled to shards,
watched as the other woman
—envying my counterpart.
we were to be monumental.
you had marked my contours with care,
towered
over my form,
erasing my fearful asymmetry.
mother taught me of our fickle nature,
why did I believe you were any different?
I was made a romantic in a prosaic world—
faithful in the promises of merely someone
else.
I was never
your ideal model.
your art
has left me with nothing.
Miranda Yuan
Year 12
Burnside High School
