It knocked
softly
a breath at the door
but I
bolted the windows
and swallowed the key.

It came wearing warmth,
but I mistook it
for fire,
for teeth,
for grief with a new face.

So I fled,
faster than joy
could reach out its hand
afraid it might feel
like home.

do you ever tell your parent that what if you can't do it and all they say is "I know you will". No mum. What if I can't ?  what if I disappointed you? what about my guilt? where do I keep this feeling? why is it so heavy? what if i fail? what then? will you still think of me as your brightest kid? will you still use me as an example for my siblings? will i be an example? what if i couldn't be that intelligent always making you proud kid? what if i fail mum? why is this feeling so heavy? where do I keep it mum? What if i fail?

I was a gifted child. Until I wasn't. I was the golden girl. Until I couldn't burn anymore.
My parents expected me to build wings of gold and fly further than anyone could ever try. I don't blame them, having a child to raise is like sculpting a clay ***, you can shape it the way you like, paint it the color you fancy. To raise a child is to play God. To raise a child is to be God.
But to be a child is to fall, to make mistakes, to fail. The thing about being too bright at an early age means you burn out by the time you're 16 and suddenly the world around you becomes more gray and terribly, terribly lonely. The fire is never warm enough, nothing is ever enough. And one day you find yourself begging to a godless sky, begging for a new spark.