I pour hot sauce on my breakfast
and say that I’m okay,
giving everyone second chances
even when they stay the same.
I put cold feet on a warm man
and pray that he will stay.
He leaves me slightly frozen,
still clinging to the flames.
A closet full of kindling,
my mouth full of gasoline–
forcing opposing magnets together
as if the outcome isn’t obscene.
My touch is healing water,
but it’s very tightly sealed,
only unleashed in emergency,
and always after anger is real.
Jan 7
Jan 7, 2026 at 7:24 PM UTC
I pour hot sauce on my breakfast
and say that I’m okay,
giving everyone second chances
even when they stay the same.
I put cold feet on a warm man
and pray that he will stay.
He leaves me slightly frozen,
still clinging to the flames.
A closet full of kindling,
my mouth full of gasoline–
forcing opposing magnets together
as if the outcome isn’t obscene.
My touch is healing water,
but it’s very tightly sealed,
only unleashed in emergency,
and always after anger is real.
But one day you learn intensity doesn't mean destiny, and it all becomes a little easier
