I used to believe I wanted to be like water.
Water that melds into any shape.
Water that is relaxing and peaceful.
Water that, when given enough time, can cut through anything.
But now I realize I want to be like fire.
Fire that gives warmth and comfort.
Fire that burns fast, creating its own path.
Fire that gives light in total darkness,
Giving you an opportunity to find your way out.
Water is used.
Fire is untamable.

underneeth my skin
A devil plays within
lights my head to blazes
as the fire rasies

A call I hear
as It draws near
a angel amoung the fire
as something begins to transpire

The angel said his name
as I drown in pain
but the angel made feel it
the feeling of being a bottomless pit

but I kept marching ahead
soon I felt mislead
but the name pushed me through
and soon I felt good as new

and the name that helped me coup
was named HOPE

the grey against the blue sky,
      metal bars,
            power coursing,

it pokes high above the horizon,
      tall,
           mighty,
                     human,

nova scotia's hills don't rise up nearly as far,
     flat in all directions,
                  textureless, and
                                  so, so wide,

large trucks drive beside the tower,
      small,
            pathetic,

A bigger truck comes by, washed in red,
      loud,
            bright,
                    blaring,­
    
the smell of smoke upon the suits of the
     brave,
           the daring,

the big, blue, cloud-filled, wonderful sky,
       blue no longer,
                    their hope,
                             lost in minutes,

no death, yet so much smoke,
      smoke,
            like the swirl of sand in water,

the water sitting near the strong metal bars,
       the telephone tower,
                         still tall and mighty,

the water with the highest tides in the world,
       rippling hard,
                  against the rocks on shore,

orange buoys float roughly in the harbour,
     a line to never,
                     ever cross,

kids will boat out there with their paddles,
     the breeze knocking them,
             side,
                  to side,

and the world breathes in, for it holds all,
       good or bad,
                  and it is full,

full despite everything.

he asks me, “where did you come from?”
as if he cannot believe I stand before him,
some version of a dream he once had
about a woman he would one day love.
like I am an apparition, suddenly appeared,
as if it’s the first day of my life — or maybe his.

I tell him, “I crawled from the pits of hell,”
with a smile, like it’s a cute joke,
but there’s truth laced in the teasing.
because I was forged in fire so hot
it melted the joy from my heart
and choked the breath from my lungs.

I did claw my way out of despair.
and though I’ve dusted off my shoulders,
there’s still dirt buried under my nails.
I am the blacksmith of my own steel,
molded into a blade sharp enough to cut throats —
or to slice fruit from the tree
and feed you with gentle hands.

and maybe that’s why he looks at me in awe,
afraid that I will vanish as quickly as I appeared.
so he leaves first — suddenly, in the morning —
walking away as if distance
will save him from catching fire,
as if loving me will turn him to ash.

but my fire leaves embers in the blood.
he will carry the taste of me on his tongue,
my breath stitched into the seams of his memory.
and one night —
when the world is quiet and the air tastes of smoke,
he will find himself at the edge of the pit,
looking for my light.

I am the words they carved
Into my skin,
The amalgamate
Of everything I’ve sinned.

My hands light fire to all that
I can touch,
Burning for a day
Before it turns to dust,

It turns to dust.

“Fight fire with fire,” they spit,
Doesn’t make it not
Burn like acid.

Rain pours down
Onto my skin,
And sure enough, it
Hurts like acid,

Like
Acid.

Didn’t mean a single word that they said,
Doesn’t mean
You didn’t mean
For it to happen

My arms are made of wood,
And yours are steel.
Just because you’re in pain
Doesn’t mean others can’t
Feel,

Everyone still feels.

Everything still
Feels.

“Fight fire with fire,” they spit,
Doesn’t make it not
Burn like acid.

Rain pours down
Onto my skin,
But it doesn’t make it not
Burn

Like

Acid.

Isn’t she lovely when she sighs in relief
And her breath twists and twirls the leaves?
After they burned her forest and left her in grief,
Mother Nature can finally breathe.