Tales of Womanhood.

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The arch of her back

Had tales to tell

Of broken dreams

And womanhood that fell.

The tears from her eyes

Had tales to tell

Of sacrifices made

And life from inside the shell.

Encompassed by bricks

That were long dead

She rowed through life

And kept her hopes fed.

She laughed at her fate

With clowns that cried

She counted her failures

And her innumerable tries.

She lived in a place

Where birds usually screamed

Where mornings were dark

With sorrows that streamed.

There, lived a pile

Of burnt Christmas letters

They were choked to death

But not for the better.

She lived in the future

Where dreams might bloom

And hoped to wake up to mornings

With love in her room.

She sold hollow souls

And bought black stories

Bruises on her mind

Were out of her worries.

She, was a flower

Of the virgin garden

Afraid of being plucked

In the greed of being pardoned.

She wanted to be more

More than just white

She wanted to be colorful

Blissful and bright.

She is a mother

A daughter and a sister

A friend of many colors 

And stronger than a mister.

She is the mine of all the emotions

Of love and fear and rage and lust

She conquers all the odds life throws at her

She is a woman with a heart of trust.

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