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The Mother



in your arms and in your womb you cradled me you’ve bled you’ve cried you’ve even died for me the stripes I wear on my hips are a reflection of the marks that stretched for me I inherited your lips your sense of knowingness and every weakness that eventually became my wisdom I didn’t fall far from the tree but we both lost our grip it killed you it killed me too but every new cycle is born of crimson and for every new cycle I will cradle you I will cradle us unconditionally

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