The Fire That Named Me

I didn’t ask for the fire—

it found me.

I was just a quiet kid,

barefoot,

wandering through the dark

like it was a game.

I didn’t know silence could burn.

Before the smoke,

I was laughter in the garden,

grass-stained knees,

singing to moths

because I thought they listened.

Joy was easy then—

like a loose shirt,

soft and careless.

I didn’t know it could tear.

Then came the scream—

not a sound,

but heat,

a lesson etched deep

where no one could see.

Pain didn’t teach.

It carved.

It took.

I didn’t bend.

I shattered.

Broke into pieces

I didn’t recognize.

The girl I was

went quiet

in the smoke.

The fire didn’t ask

what I wanted to keep.

It took everything—

my softness,

my name,

my dreams.

And when it was done,

I was ash

with eyes.

A shadow

that remembered warmth

but didn’t need it anymore.

Now,

my voice carries scorch marks.

The ground flinches

when I walk.

I’m not healed.

I’m sharpened.

I became the flame—

not the kind that warms,

but the kind that survives.

And still,

even ash

can cradle seeds.

Even scorched earth

can bloom.

In the quiet after,

I found a name

no one gave me.

I chose it.

And that,

finally,

was mine.

#trauma

#transformation

#poetry

#healing

#redemption

#emotional writing