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Canticle Of A Bored Hausfrau
(These are marks that defy,
Yet define all that is in me.)
My toddler legs carried me into the street
but betrayed me to the kiss of asphalt.
Buried in the layers of skin so deep
this mark on my visage is foreign, no salt
from earth to make me worthy in the eyes 
of the world at large, this object resting
upon my cheek takes the strange guise
of a beauty mark gone wrong, resisting
all attempts to disguise it's true task:
It sets me apart from the human race.
I bear the looks of those who glance
at the kiss of Cain upon my face.
Purpose twofold: all my sorrow and irritation
have given way to poetic inspiration.
I lay under the light and felt the needle pierce
the skin, my pelvic bone ached in sympathy
as sepia bled into my flesh with pain so fierce
it left me paralyzed, shaken, endowing me
with a new appreciation for your suffering
watching you drift, day after slow day-
until the time-that moment, when the digging
into your skull commenced. It was the only way
to remove the cancer your body saw
fit to bestow on you. I came to decision
to commemorate your death, the dragon's claw
digs in my milky hip, body weaving in a turn
of the immortal eight. This new friend
I carry at my side till my journey's end.
War, lust and fecundity are gifts from my
unlikely patron, Morrigan- embodied in black
heads of ravens, the blood rises from the eye
of each one as the sharp beaks turn back
into form of triune goddess-hood. Maiden
Mother & Crone here in perfect harmony-
balance boldly on sinister side, hidden
from the world. I feel the power of these three
pulse from a source within- the rising tide
of primal need wearing down that dam
of reason, so carefully placed inside
my heart - I fear the moment I am
unleashed by this badge of freedom I bear
to the true womanhood I'm a reluctant heir.
One thrust upon me, two taken willingly.
No marks of caste, my totems are testimony
to life, death, and the infinite love of memory.

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