women are born with pain as their last names
branded by it from their first cry as little girls
pain is a silken soft custom
an ambrosial garment
passed down like a wedding gown
from mother to daughter
a curse
a gift
be grateful girl, it could always be worse
the white against your skin
a wedding gown
a funeral shroud
Women are made to carry pain in their wombs
like a forest in bloom
a cradle and tomb
the way the sun recongises east from west
pain will always recognise and lay claim to a woman's breast
in the way the sun sets in the east and rises from the west
pain will make a home in a woman's heart and rise from her chest
a curse and a gift
the white against her skin
her wedding gown becomes a funeral shroud
YOU ARE READING
For the Sun of your Skin
ParanormalneA poetry collection about what it feels like to be loved by the sun, for the scars, the brown and gold that is left as a memorabilia on your skin.
