I am cursed.
Handed down to me by my mother,
Gently,
Softly,
Whispered,
I am cursed.

"This feeling is a blessing!
To know what the soul knows,
To feel the weight of a sigh,
To know the hurt behind a tense laugh--
This feeling means you are good."

This feeling is a curse.
To bear the unknown,
To hold sharp ends of knives,
To carry the weight on my shoulders--
This feeling means I can never be just good.

Disguised as a blessing, this curse runs deep.
You feel it in your heart now, don't you?
Every creak in the forest,
Every cry,
Every sound that was not made.

It runs until you can't hide from it,
It's light so blinding you believe it to be God.
It puts it's hands on your eyes,
And cradles your face so gently.
You would be a fool to not trust it.

And it tells you to do just that--
Trust it.
It's so warm and inviting,
So you do.