The Legend of Diana

I’m an Amazon built from the bones of my own broken body
sometimes I can’t speak but for screaming
a gaping wound for a mouth that calls for war
thorns knot in my gut until iron-stained salt coats my lips
a reddened smile that used to beg but now only bites
the talons of my fingers slide down my hips until battle lines are drawn
the gentle caress of a threat, the splitting open of peach skin
until the pulpy guts spill over in sugar-soaked juice
my palms torn open in a sticky stigmata
lashes fan open like the razor blades I used to crave
circling eyes the color of mottled bruises long since faded
pupils blown open, two black holes hoping to swallow down
the armies of my enemies – the hands of someone I loved
the wine circles in my mouth like vultures over fallen soldiers
as I watch you from across the room
I’d recognize those hands from anywhere; I have the matching scars
tonight, it’s my fists that uncurl into ready claws
Hippolyta’s daughter standing at the edge of a killing field
my blood-hungry grin spreads wide

Published by Ren Martinez

Ren is a thirty-something Lost Boy whose personal aesthetic is “suspected of witchcraft by local villagers.” She subscribes to cheerful nihilism, the destruction of the patriarchy, and the belief that glitter makes everything better. She is a Richmond-based writer and performer who has fiction and non-fiction work found in a variety of publications, such as The Mary Sue, RVA Magazine, The Quotable, and Nostrovia Press. She is currently the fiction editor and a regular contributor at Quail Bell Magazine. She is also the co-host of the podcast, This F***ing Guy! Find out more at or read her dumbass tweets on Twitter @itsrenmartinez

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