I like using fire as an analogy, a metaphor, the punchline for most of my poetry

I often describe the heart as if it were a hearth, while its beats were the heat it radiated

I see it—sometimes a roaring flame, often times a steady bonfire, other times a dying match.

It could scorch you if you aren't careful, but it also provides you warmth and light. A sort of clarity. Comfort.

It allows some of the toughest things on Earth to become malleable and mold itself into something new

It turns the bitter into sweet, the biting cold to teeth-sinking warm, the tasteless into delicious

It allows the spirit to soar with columns of smoke to the heavens while the body becomes fertilizer for daisies

It takes beauty, and burns it black and ash to the point of no recognition

Fire is so precious, and dangerous, and essential, and beautiful, and ugly—just like this hearth of a heart

Tended and regulated well, it's the greatest discovery of mankind

Allowed to burn out quick, or spread out of control, then it's the accident that burned down London in 1666

I believe I should end this by saying: find someone who will tend to your hearth as if it were their last dying light, instead of a person who would simply roast marshmallows with forest fires

we pursue to confess sins that
have not been sinned.
rather than repent to ourselves
to bathe and soak in guilt that lurks amongst blood.
It’s okay if it keeps you awake
but sins is nothing but a disguise we put on ourselves
when we feel
that we have wronged the world.
We never do.

bathing myself in this thirsting quench
and now I’ve come to see you
as a drug. a pill.
but not prescribed.
     
Staring blackly at me
on my bedside table
                  and it’s teasing me.
teasing me with the sugar cane
that erupts when it skims my tounge -
I drool.

alluring my own deception  with your
succulent crescendo
that unravels it’s way down my whole
     voice until there’s none left.
And its just the way it sets me so ablaze
that I cremate casually  in your
immaculate ignite.

                       Knuckles clench to restrain that
                 sentiment that nostalgia
             that world that lies behind your door I always see myself
            linger through ghostly.



I’ve never been

when i look at myself in the mirror
i see something blue, something dead-eyed.
she looks at me and sees something more,
something brighter, worth loving

i look at her and i think of the ocean
eternally beautiful, endless depth
sometimes i think i'll drown but
she keeps me afloat, makes me swim

we could spend hours talking
or not speak for a whole day;
no matter the number of words exchanged
not a minute goes by that she isn't on my brain

being with her feels like promise,
like an apology from life
it says, "here, this is your happiness"
i know i don't deserve her but i'll never take her heart for granted

it's been five months
but i already have our one year marked on my calendar
and i can count the days passed
by the number of smiles she gives me

emotion was never my thing
'til an angel dressed in humanity showed me
what feeling could be like,
what love could be like without pain

the clouds are mostly grey in england,
the sky muted by dreary weather
but these days i find myself looking at the flowers instead
and she is sunshine lighting my every step

you're enthralling, the way you captivate me
less than half a year but already
you've changed so many things
you are my most extraordinary experience

you're the constellations in my night sky
and the petals blooming brightly in a once barren garden
you make me see more; you're the pastels lightening my art
there's a spark in me and now i know warmth

if you could only see yourself the way i see you,
life is no longer just grey and blue
i need you to know that i love you
thank you for bringing colour to my world

i truly hope that your skeleton festers beside mine
and our dirt clogged fingertips mould together
even after we lose the ability to grip.
wouldn't it be nice to rot with you.