I'm Thinking of Fire

I'm thinking of fire.

How it licks, how it devours,

how it never apologizes for its hunger.

I'm thinking of the way my skin hums,

heat-curled, ember-wild,

furnace-born beneath the slander of their words.

I'm thinking of the sharp-tongued whispers,

venomstitched, sickly-sweet,

dripping from lips that never burned.

I'm thinking of how they said, be soft.

How they asked me to shrink,

to swallow my sparks,

to keep my fire tucked behind my teeth

like something meant to be hidden.

I'm thinking of the smother.

The slow suffocate.

How they poured their silence over me

like water,

like they thought they could put me out.

I'm thinking of how wrong they were.

I am not small.

I am not safe.

I am not something to be tamed.

I am wildfire and ruin,

molten-rage and ember-fury,

and I am done pretending I am not burning.

Let the smoke rise.

Let the flames split my skin,

let them taste the cinder-cracked howl

that has lived in my throat too long.

Let them see what happens

when a woman stops trying to hold herself back.

I'm thinking of fire.

And I am not afraid to burn.