You pulled me from the river of your thoughts. Waves of creativity, they caused your head to burst.
You delivered me, cut open your head, birthed me from your brain. I was ready to face these lands you created, ready to fight your wars.
I only fought fair, with purpose. Never for selfish reasons, or glory. I was not like your sons. You never needed to protect me, wisdom was my weapon and calm demeanour my armour.
I am worthy of worship, for I am kind to those loyal to me. I bestow fortune upon those who turn their craft into art, those who weave their ideas into the cloth called life, I’ll embroider it with gold.
Father I am a leader, a helper and a seer. Compassionate companion of most of your creations, cities bear my name and tell my stories. Tales of bravery and honesty, of
my pure virtuous virginity. Of the gorgon, Heracles or the olive tree.
How I marked this land, claimed it, raised and embraced it. Maternal instincts making me Goddess of the city.
Father, you often don’t recognise, the strength your daughters possess and the input we provide. Instead of praising your sons, I beg you to gaze upon me.
Athena, your best idea.