I met a goddess when I went walking around today. I saw her sitting all pensive and looking at people around her with sadness. I asked her why. She said she didn’t want to be a goddess anymore. It was too much responsibility.
I asked her about the fun she would have with so many people worshiping her. Didn’t it give her a high to have people revere her? She scoffed at me and said no one asked her before making her a goddess. No one asked her if she ever wanted to sin but just repeated that she was pure. She wanted love and passion, all she got was piety
She said she was tired of the bells in her temple. Because they awakened her from her slumber and she liked to sleep late in the morning. But the people, they came calling with a prayer on their lips.
No one came and told her about their escapades. They always came and told her how sad they were that they had sinned. They did not know how lucky they were to lead a normal life.
She wished she hid behind a tree holding hands with someone and felt the nervousness of first love. She wished she could dress up and try to be herself.
All she got was shiny trashy tacky garb every festival, so not her style. But then goddesses have an image to upkeep she was told. She wished she could take a hammer and break that image along with the priest’s head who looked at her curves with lust when he thought no one was looking.
She told me she didn’t want flowers at her feet or marigold garlands around her neck. She wanted a bed of jasmine and roses and she wanted to lay there with someone. That was the worship she wanted.
Then she giggled and said she wouldn’t mind her toes being sucked. She had heard it was a new age sexy thing. Better than worshippers falling at her feet.
I was running late so she told me that maybe some other day she could tell the world about the fantasies in her head. Till then I could tell the world that she was an imperfect goddess.
(goddess name withheld on request)