My Struggle with My Zodiac Sign

I am the oldest of four girls, and the oldest of my generation in  my family - that's thirteen cousins, if it really matters to you that much. Yet, for as long as I can remember, my friends have always treated me as the baby. I have always been the most naive seeming out of my peers. Not that I truly believe in it, but it doesn't help that I am a Virgo, and for those of you more familiar with the Greek Zodiac, Virgo is the Virgin. See what I mean? Even the stars have to point out my sheltered upbringing. They have to make it a part of my identity. Of course, Virgo is a dual sign, a fact few people know, but the Vixen is a side of Virgo that only a select few ever get to see. So far, all everyone sees is the Virgin.

I'm not the naïve young woman I once was. But, like the ghosts that haunt the catacombs of Paris, my innocence lives with me. It's all anyone really sees of me. It's always so funny to watch the faces of my friends when I curse or when I make a lewd joke. They never expect it because of how proper or prim I appear to be, which has served me better than I might let on. At the same time, my peers seem to be forever deterred by the rose-tinted glasses they think I sport.

So, when I visited my mother's friend, I was playing with her Bombay, Finn. There was a discussion about how he had come with the name, Rex, and she didn't like the name, so she changed it. I told her that, had it been me, he would have been Bagheera for Rudyard Kipling's The Jungle Book. This is what came of that discussion and my continuing frustration with my zodiac sign.

Finn or Rex or Bagheera (Angel Face)
Dark as ebony is your coat - it is the coal from the very bowels of the Earth,
A fossil from the Carboniferous, and it douses your fur.
Yet all anyone can see is your eyes.

They are sickly sweet orbs, green like growth and goodness, wondering,
You are bewildered, full of desire to understand.
They betray the child in you.

Your fur, how it covers you in sinful shadows, dark like sobriety and pain,
angry, growling, stewing, consuming all light to fester.
It is a splotch of something sinister and forbidden in the daylight.
Yet, all they can see is your eyes.

Soft with love, a light in the blanket of night, your eyes,
They whisper duets of innocence, genuine caring.
They are your virgin traitors - they reveal your naïveté.

Every part of you screams of your haunted past,
Yet no one can get past your angel face.