1
I tread this path
of least resistance,
lined with comfort
wrapped in quiet guilt—
a shadow trail
that blames no one
but the self.
How easy
to hold my tongue
and swallow fire,
burning inward,
scorching heart
with silence
instead of words
that might reshape
the world
or shatter mine.
It's easier
to turn the knife inward,
blame as balm,
pain familiar,
safer
than the unknown road
that honesty might carve.
I've mastered
the subtle art
of draining life
from love,
slowly dimming
light from eyes
that dared to find
warmth in me—
easier than leaping,
risking
that there might be
nothing
to catch the fall
but freedom
or pain.
Yet, here,
in the dull ache
of safety,
lies danger
far greater—
a life unlived,
a heart unopened,
a truth forever unspoken.
I fear love
not for what it asks of me,
but for what
I might lose
in myself
should I choose
to truly live it.
But what if,
this time,
instead of stepping aside,
I step forward
into uncertainty,
into vulnerability,
into the chaos
of honest words
and the rawness
of being
beautifully,
dangerously
seen.
Would I crumble
or finally breathe?
Perhaps
the path of most resistance
is not pain
but healing—
a risk
worth every fear
it ignites.
————————————————————————
2
She is wildfire—
beautiful yet ruthless,
burning fields in my mind,
embers dancing endlessly
in the twilight hours,
scorching my sleep.
I wander forests of her memory,
checking pathways left behind,
hoping to glimpse
even a shadow of her passing.
She whispers through the branches,
yet eludes my touch—
leaves tremble in longing,
roots ache beneath my feet.
Every silence
is smoke-filled, choking,
but every word ignites
a new blaze,
brighter, fiercer,
devouring logic
until nothing remains
but the urgent,
aching beauty
of destruction.
How cruel
yet wondrous
this nature of love—
to bloom and burn
in the same heartbeat.
How strange
to find comfort
in flames
that leave me charred,
and still,
I lean closer,
breathless,
forever caught
between fleeing the fire
and surrendering
to ash.
——————————————————-
3
I've always loved the rivers,
envied their effortless flow—
choosing the path
that gravity carves without thought,
wearing stone to smoothness,
settling gently into complacency
rather than carving their own.
I find myself
mirroring their liquid ways,
choosing blame inward,
the quiet erosion of self,
because naming the source
is harder
than dissolving into silence,
slipping beneath the surface
into easy currents
of self-blame,
comfortable in pain,
afraid of the wild
unknown
that honesty brings.
I watch love bloom like wildfire
but stand still,
burning slowly at the edges,
unable to move
toward or away,
caught
between the flames
of longing and fear.
I scorch those closest to me,
draining them
until nothing remains—
an arid landscape
where no love grows,
because I've feared
the danger
of choosing courage.
