Waiting to Hold Something New

I had to let it go - this rage -

this insistent barricade of fear.

It had grown like a firestorm;

incomprehensible tension

wound tight like a garrote wire,

choking out my will to breathe -

to exist without the hate.

But the match had been lit,

the spark engaged,

the smoke billowing -

so now it was time to let it go

or let it engulf me.

-

The fire was beautiful

in a terrible way.

It was fuel; life given light

and I craved it like water

though it could never

quench the thirst.

I could let it burn there

in the palm of my hand;

let it devour the match

until it melted my fingernails,

singed my nerves,

and peeled back my skin.

It would hurt -

hurt those around me -

but I would be free of this;

the unending cycle.

-

This is not what I would choose.

-

My fingers unfurled,

my heart racing,

and the flame,

flickering - fighting to live -

slowly tilted,

becoming askew with the

pull of the world;

the gravity of this choice.

The burn of the glow

left my eyes and faded

just as I hoped

that rage would dissipate

and give me respite

from its blazing, horrendous glory.

-

Without the match I was just a box,

waiting to hold something new.

___________________________________________

If you need emotional support, reach out to the national mental health hotline: 988. You can also visit their site here: 988 Lifeline.