The Woman's Curse Poem by Glen Miller

The girl-she stood:
Crushed, dismayed,
Struck down forever
Upto this day
By the woman's curse.

Can't cry, can't speak,
Can't even breathe
Without the woman's curse.

She looked out
Across the canyon,
The woman's curse in mind:
Too fat, too thin,
Too sad, too bad!
Damn that woman's curse.

Bad grades in school,
Poor attitude.
Damn that woman's curse.
'Fix your hair up.'
'Put on make-up.'
'Such a screw-up! '
Among the woman's curses.

That cursed woman,
Damned old woman:
Her flesh and blood-
Her own mother!
Why does she curse her so?

A tear dropp fell,
Shattered the ground.
She looked up and smiled:
Such grief, such pain,
No joy to gain
Under her mother's curse.

Drugs won't heal it,
No drink can cure it,
And sex won't ease it.
No, not her mother's curse.

She laughed aloud,
Dropped to the ground,
Overcome
By her mother's curse.

A curse Heaven didn't make,
A curse Hell can't break!
She thinks she's God
From Heaven above!
She'll see one day.

The girl rose up,
Now released
From her mother's curse.

She saw just one-
Just one way out.

Her hand in her pocket,
She found her escape.
She grasped the blade
And said a prayer,
'Let my mother fall.'

With that, she was done.

She raised her sleave,
Ready to leave-
To leave her mother's curse.

She ran the blade
Across her wrist
And flung herself
From off that cliff
Away from her mother's curse.