What do I suffer over now that the curse has lifted?
Who do I call when I’m no longer broken and bitter?
I walked two years with my eyes down, barely open,
Waiting to break a leg, begging to waste a moment.
My pleas did not make it to heaven, but neither did my gods,
And I erased myself from every good battle I fought.
The times have shifted into moments I hold so close.
I can barely unclench my fist from the stem of the rose.
And to you, staring my black rags up and down,
Just know that I broke the curse when my spark drowned,
And I built a new one from charcoal and sandpaper,
While Time prayed for me, hoping I would meet my maker.
With no one to call and no soul left to regret,
I am blurring the face of everyone I have met.
Yet the colors slide back into place, the sharpness persists;
The birds chirp, the sun rises, the mist lifts.
Is this only for a day, or can I trust the green light?
If Warmth starves me again, I will not pick a new fight.
The curse will find me again, but so will the cure.
There is no pleasure in keeping your worst intentions pure.
He who cursed me does not get a seat at the dinner table,
As I emerge from the hearse, twelve gravely months later.
Pain feels different, more like a memory than my fate,
And the smiling faces on my wall tell me
I didn’t need to drown to get saved.
-Jackie
The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright 