A Lady Upon The Figurehead

A  lady upon the figurehead
Standing proud in the breeze
Calling to the Sirens & wenches
Knowing the truth of these seas
Her beauty remaining firm & intact
The ship around her orange with rust
The sailors with splinters in their palms
For she has a wooden bust

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Tired Of The Ancient Traditions

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Tired of the ancient traditions
Feeling scared of former neglect
Provocations of patriarchy’s past
Though, I’m here to firmly reject
Everything outside of our union
Reallocating life to its proper size
Knocking over their pedestals myself
Escaping from undutiful, prying eyes