Sometimes you outgrow things,

understanding an effortless reaching for sun.

Other times, you must take sword to the lashings

of ancient curses binding you,

across chest, around the waist,

pinning you to the prow of a ship–

you, the first to be sacrificed in storm or attack.

Get to know the paralyzing ropes wrapping you raw,

then cut through and burn those fuckers

to the ground.

And dive.

Mother Ocean waits to take you

to shores meant to shelter and delight

in your very being.

Leave the curses to the cursed.