She looked at the spot on her arm.
She still referred to them as freckles.
Raised, turning purple,
another little cancer.
Another little thing to have removed
before it could become a large living entity--
attached yet separate from her.
Her life seemed
s series of excised entities,
now remembered as discarded tissues.
So many had come and gone.
She tried to keep emotionless;
had sublimated those resentments,
Once she was without blemish;
but, she loved badly and her parents disapproved.
It was so long ago they took that little bit away,
the one that would have been a boy.
She was given no choice.
Thinking, as she considered the growing puffy freckle,which one of these removals would destroy her.