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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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