you promised me flames
but i raised the alarm too soon
and for a long time i was stained
by the smoke you left behind
we are told to want fire
and that we should let it consume us
because that’s what love is
because burning is better
than the darkness it leaves behind
but the night sky is just as dark
as the smoke i ran my fingers through
and though you can’t see them
you know the stars still shine
so i don’t want a fire
and i don’t want your flames
i want a love like the stars
but at a distance.
I wash myself clean with sonnets
and wear Emily Dickinson
under my clothes. I know about
worlds made more vibrant with words and
pens than with brushes and acrylics.
I sleep with metaphors that feel
more familiar than my own flesh.
And so if you think that I am
broken, don’t. My poetry will
put me back together again.
hey fun fact did you know that people are allowed to actually change their opinions on something? i know. take your time.
ah, a life free from chronic anxiety would be a fucking dream.