I breath chaos—
lungs filled with cigarette butts of burned dreams
Ash coating my ribs as my heartbeat cracks.
Hope is a charred matchstick I can never ignite again.
Rusty handcuffs over chaffed wrists—
I'll wear it like chosen tattoos.
Can’t say it though.
Can’t speak what clogs my throat
Because when I do, they'll slit it.
So I pin my shadow to my spine—
To the clothes always orange, and disappoint my father like I always do.
He promised me cigarettes for good behavior,
but he always found in cuffs for stealing them.
Always asking, why?
Why?
3 letters I'll never have the answer too.
I’m not a boy.
Not a man.
Just chaos from inside out.
I can't change my heartbeat.
I can't change the air I breathe.
I can't change the orange cloths they give me .
I can't ignite a charred matchstick— the fire they took from me.
But I don’t tell them.
They don’t believe me.
Neither do I.
So I bury the Why.
Keep breathing stolen ash and chaos
Where it can’t hurt anyone
But the wrists in cuffs
And the spine trapped in orange.
#noworriesImfine
About the Creator
T. Licht
I have a love for words and a love to share them.
Enjoy! and thank you for taking the time to read this and maybe if you want subscribe and buy my new poetry book Whispers at Twilight
FPS: The Last Flame Challenge Winners
Welcome to our first Winners Announcement of the year and to the final challenge in the Fall Poetry Series. The Last Flame invited writers to sit with endings, using fire as a central image to consider what remains when something burns out: ash, warmth, memory, silence, or the faint promise of what comes next. The strongest pieces treated endings as gradual rather than sudden, allowing them to flicker, dim, and linger.
By Vocal Curation Team6 days ago in Resources
Comments (3)
Soooooper
“Disappoint my father like I always do” got too real. Loved this poem. Super strong entry
Well-wrought! Those who have a why can bear almost any how. Sometimes it takes a while to find one specific to ourselves. Many blessings, seeker!