Sometimes I think that I can change
myself, that I can choose
not to be a fire, that
if I burn with only
the smallest flame, my heat
and light will be hidden

long enough for me to forget
myself. You never allow me
that luxury, of not knowing

who I am. You fan
the ember of my soul, pushing me
out into the tendrils that strive
upwards, making me live
in the brilliant flashes and
blinding sparks that exist

one moment and are gone
the next. You make me feel
that I shine so brightly
sometimes, and then at others

I have floated upwards, one
tiny spark against
a vast sky, so far away

from the light of your collective being.
My existence in your vicinity
is so mercurial, but

only around you
am I so gloriously
alive.