My Poems

Rose Tinted Flame

"When you're born in a burning house, you think the whole world is on fire. But it's not."
― Richard Kadrey, Aloha from Hell

This chapter is about childhood trauma/abuse, but nothing is explicitly described
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They say that if you're born in a burning house, you think the whole world is on fire

But I don't think that's quite true

If you're born in a burning house, you learn to not see the flames

The heat licking your face and your singed clothes is nothing but a side effect of living

If you're born in a burning house, eventually you stop feeling the heat

When you're born in a burning house, you stop seeing your own flames

But that doesn't stop you from seeing other's

You see the soot in your friend's room

You see the way their flames roar higher when both parents are home and you think,

That's what it's like to live in a burning house

You see the similarities between your houses

Maybe you finally realize there is a fire in your house

But clearly, it's not as bad as your friend's

Their house is made of nothing but flames

Their walls are glowing embers stacked carefully together

Their ceiling is but thin straw, already starting to spark

You look at your house and see a little spark, if you look close enough

But that's okay, it's just a spark

Everyone's house has a little spark sometimes

Sometimes the spark grows, scuttling across a room

But usually, it puts itself out

Sometimes, the flame roars, the force of it slamming doors and making the stairs groan

They never talk about the damages the fires leave

Once you notice it, you start seeing it everywhere

The thin layer of ash in the living room, making the dog sneeze

You see the way kitchen perpetually glows,

Though you can't quite tell where it's coming from

Eventually you start to look for it

You move pictures and find glowing pockets of embers

You pull up floorboards and a sea of flame greets you, licking your cheeks eagerly

You start looking at everyone else again, selfishly hoping that everyone else's is worse

Some are, but you can't help but notice how some houses aren't

Their houses are cool and calm

The air there is graciously clean, and you greedily breathe it in

Marveling at how it doesn't make you cough

I was born into a burning house, but I never saw it that way

The soot was always cleared up, regardless of how quickly it always came back

It settled, barely noticeable, even as it was cleaned

The fire grew with me, and I couldn't keep ignoring it

I decided that the soot was to blame, covering my glasses and hiding itself in the process

Little portions of fire left with the others,

But it never died

Some days it finds an untouched wall and it devours it whole

The heat that I never used to feel now takes my breath away

It rarely happens now, but I can never forget

I shift the frames on the wall, and the pockets are still there

My house is built on fire that never seems to go away

It lays dormant

It lulls me into a false sense of security, but it's the first thing I think about in the morning

My house isn't on fire

My house is built with those same embers

Not spreading, but the heat reminds me of what it could be

I stash water in my room, I leave the window open and fan on

Desperately trying to rid my room of the smell of smoke

Doors close harshly and my hand reaches for the water

People visit and comment on how clean our air feels,

It makes me want to scream

I want to rip the picture frames down and show them the embers

I want to tear up the floorboards,

So carefully placed down all those years ago

And show them where the heat that boils up from

Maybe everyone does have a little spark in their home

And maybe that's why no one recognizes the flame in my house