She and the Passion Burn

"Transitions are fun," they said.

She looked at them and laughed 'cause there’s always an urgency with her. There’s this fire of passion burning underneath everything she does and the worst, or possibly the best, part about it is that she can’t see how big the flames are getting until they burn her. Scorching her skin into slippery pits of flesh. Then she sits, aimlessly sulking in her pity as she sizzles and pops, unknowingly giving herself another reason to be seen as someone who’s different from the rest of them. So she has to transition into her new skin. She has to find a way to exist as she did before but not exactly as she was because she’s different once again. She has scars that she doesn’t even recognize yet and every time she sees them she cringes. There are smells she wasn’t prepared for and places she doesn’t even want to sense anymore. There’s an ooey gooey path of blood dripping from behind her but, "Transitions are fun," they said.

And so it is obvious, already, that she is dramatic. She plasters her emotions up against the sunlight and reflects them unto her surroundings screaming, "There is no way out of this one folks! Everyone gets to see exactly why I am the way I am." Then she envies the sun for her capability to blatantly reveal the deepest details of any moment and scorns her emotions away just as quickly as she had revealed them in the first place. She is born again and again, and again. It becomes the vicious cycle that she thinks is allowed to exist everywhere else except for within herself. So she’s angry and she is wrong. She believes it is wrong of her to believe she is different, so wrong of her to focus on her transitions so meticulously. So wrong of her to think of herself as doing anything wrong.

She is so beautiful.

Though she sits in a room alone all day long, she is beautiful. Though she knows not why fear now runs amok in her, once, safe space, she is still beautiful. Though she sees herself as a separate identity and because she is beautiful, she is beautiful. There will be a time where she sees this transitional cycle as a greater entity than just her emotions. When she looks upon herself as a brave soul for being burned so many times by her own passions, and still striving to be passionate. She will see the green light at the end of every tunnel and she will scream out in red the whole way, holding her breath and trudging through the center of the earth, wondering when the next beam of light will glisten across her face.

And they all say,

“That looked fun.”