My Secret Fire

Sometimes I lament how cold I have become

I try to cry

But I laugh instead, as bitterness wraps itself around my spine.

 

They think I don’t feel

When the problem is, I have felt too much

 

The pain of suffering from the words of a loved one

The shame of loving someone who only sees me as a bit of fun

Or a crutch for their numerous fucking problems

 

A plain canvas that they paint as they wish

No care for who exists behind

A washed out model for a controlling designer

 

So I grew cold as their callous ways doused my fire

Slightly bitter as my light flickered

 

Growing repulsed by their presence

I sought to put myself out

 

But I couldn’t fully achieve it

As their breeze would painfully rekindle my ashes

 

A small flame would burn,

hidden behind a secret bush I had planted

 

So they did not see the flame that burnt

But instead, they would assume

They would only see the forest in the night and feel the cold breeze pinching upon their shoulders

The cold gave them a fright

They would run far into the night

Not realising that I always had light

They just didn’t have the right eyes to pass.

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