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About This Poem
The Dawn of a New Eve
Though raised with stifling choices; Virgin, Mother, Whore,
yes, taught the cutting bite, the bloody edge of gray,
I've grown past the mindless role of woman, I abhor,
past the sin strewn path's on which too many stray;
a wick-less, often witless foil, a blunted blade,
yes, taught the cutting bite, the bloody edge of gray.
What roles has he, so prick adorned, waylaid?
He, the Master born, he the Godhead given me,
a wick-less, often witless foil, a blunted blade.
He be not God, and I not his, I disagree.
I create, give birth, bring hope, have all he lacks
He, the Master born, he the Godhead given me.
Shield mate, warrior, child-bearer, whose heart impacts
life grows within my womb all ancient mysteries...
I create give birth, bring hope, have all he lacks.
And, I'll not accept this male-ordered hierarchy.
though raised with stifling choices; Virgin, Mother, Whore
life grows within my womb and all ancient mysteries,
I've grown past the mindless role of woman, I abhor.
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