The stories were written all over her body in broken skin
With blood as ink
Day and night no longer meant a thing
It was one round to the next
She says it is a tale as old as time One that had been handed down by the ancestors
In spite of sweaty eyes
The words of her mum and her friends strengthen her in the next episode
"My mother had her stories. Her mother had hers as well."
She looks into the eyes of her son
She sees one who is learned in the ways of a scribe
Ready to put his hands to work
She looks into the eyes of her daughter and sees a blank page
In invisible ink, there is a story hidden
Waiting to be found by a worthy scribe
A story written in broken skin
A story with blood as ink
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