He is all encompassing.
His fire propelling sustainablity
In a place that's void of oxygen.

A foreign body against domestic needs.

How can I appreciate his presence in my life,
but fear him all the same?

Maybe it is just me, but
it feels as if I let myself cook in his heat.

As if I make myself absorb his rays with no protection.

Que lástima.

The things I have to do to not go up in smoke quema, to not be charred, quema, to not turn into a crisp, ¿Que más?


His understanding is beyond my reach.
Miles and miles over my head,
over to the beyond where I cannot breathe.

Yet he still manages to reach me
(always had and forever will)

I want to face this aspect of my reality,
but no matter how hard I try to make eye contact,
I must look away...

My father casts his burning gaze upon me again,
expecting answers to questions he has not
even asked me yet.

It is physically taxing to even swallow, much less to move around in the environment he created.

Every step I take around him sizzles as flesh makes contact with pavement.

What must I do to win back your favor, Inti?

What part of myself must I sacrifice to appease you?

To avoid being set aflame,
I do what comes second nature to me now.

My eyes close in search of shade, to preserve the reservoir that my father has yet to dry up.  



And all I see is orange.