Burning House

 I was born into a burning house

My skin was melted from my bones

The voices raised as I lifted my head

The moment I learned to speak my mind

I watched others receive rivers of love 

that flowed endlessly through my  eyes

but any love that I was given

Was burnt within the embers of loneliness

And it disintegrated in my hands

I grew up in a burning house

As a child of delicate paper

Sister to kindle, daughter of spark

to mother of flame and father of flint

There is no room for paper, no purpose in bonfire

other than to catch flame and burn alive

to boil down to the very essence of water at my core

to not be, to become nothing at all.

I was a child born in a burning house 

-3AM