I am playing with fire again –
A fire that is burning hot for someone who is never me
And I hold it in the palm of my hand like it doesn’t burn
Just to show you that I won’t burst into flames
But no one will see me when I’m alone,
bathing in ice, soothing scorched skin.
It is easier to hold the flame meant for someone else
Than to fan to life one of my own.
I have lit flames before only to have them stamped out with purpose and intention
Under the guise of a love that is supposed to embolden and endure
But is dark and twisted and contemptuous
And I will not –
Cannot-
light that flame another time for you or anyone else
No matter how long you stare into my eyes or make me feel loved or tell me I’m worthy
Because I am not any one of those things
Not really, not to you, or you’d notice that this fire I’m holding for you is not my own.
So I will continue to carry this blaze that is not mine
And you will keep fanning it even as it turns your whole existence to embers and ash
And you will look at me with hunger and desire and just a whiff of love
Long enough to make me think those things are real
And then you’ll realize that the fire I carry was yours all along, meant for another,
And you’ll snatch it back.
You will be left to stand in your pile of dust
And I’ll get my palms back, empty and aching.
And though I’ll be suffering from burns,
I won’t ever erupt because I was never truly ignited
So I’ll be safe from the hands that think they can reach me
And the eyes that think they can see me
when all that they see is the light of their own flames reflected back at them.
I dream you. 