A mark is carved on my thigh an imperfect rhombus it bears; opposite but unequal sides of two pairs.
An un-equilateral, my friends call it.
“My Identifier,” I christened it. A distinct separator from others
this gene tag hidden in an obscure place
this peculiar trace. Colored with shame that blind as a child
burned into my flesh by unknown hands with minds malignant. Its purpose, I now divine.…
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