Mother, are you near the fire?
Teach us how to not burn in desire.
Mother, how to avoid getting burned?

Fresh water from the well.
Hot lips and warm breasts.
Unbraid and brush my hair.

Devil's daughters roam free.
Mother, why is our mere existence a sin?

Dear sisters, look at Helen of Troy.
Her beauty was useful for his evil ploy.
Makes me cut my hair and never let it grow.

Mother, what's with this feminine urge?
To be the one who cleans up the mess.
After the man who told me that I'm worthless.

The transformation you all wait for.

To see Deva Maria in the little demoness.

Mother Theresa running barefoot in the grasslands.

Innocent like a little girl with a crown made out of flowers.

An unrealistic representation of our virtues.

For a grown woman's crown is made out of lead.

Simply, we cannot roam free.

© Juliet Jeyn