I've been afraid to talk about this
because I worry that I'll speak it once
and you'll find some kind of enchantment
like a moth to the flame.
But talking once about it doesn't
change it; it's barely scratching and
shifting at the surface. Yet I still worry
that if I say it again, and again, and again,
that you'll think I am a person who has
no words to keep.
I feel embarrassed and it's taking a lot
from me mentally. I'm feeling like a freak
of nature, and no one is here to put me
into perspective.
Then sometimes, it grows worse
when this all threatens to take away
what small pieces of my sanity I have
recovered, and I feel like I am always
on this brink of actually going insane
only because everyone around me is
expecting me to.
YOU ARE READING
THE ARSONIST
Poetry"You set my world on fire, but at what cost?" In THE ARSONIST, this prose-poetry chapbook explores third degree burns, stone faced lovers, and learning to love the blackened trees. New poems released every Thursday at 9PM MST/11PM EST.
