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Her(aldry)

False dawn is ruined streaming over your shoulder
Follicles were the rumor when the reigns turned to fodder
Every little woman
Each doll assembled, modular, for parturition
Is fitted for her moment
tailored to hear her legacy whispered
So eagle eared and kitten quick to
hear it whence it’s gone
Hear it forever
whether or not the vibrations persist
 
There are,
less or more,
four ways of being a woman
The Mother the Daughter the Sister and
Androcentrism’s best loved archetype
The whore,
Wife, and witch, and pyre make me your martyr
Blowing smoke in patriarchy’s face
Man has neither the grace nor hips
To bear both his own
and womanhood's weight
For mother I’ll suffer his birth
For sister
I’ll suffer the blame
For daughter I’ll suffer his raising
For all women permit the cycle again
Woman is the inbreed of illusion
from birth, mise en abîme
For whenever man face the mirror
Reflection only covet the whore beside him

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