ladies who among us isn’t full of rage, just apocalyptically angry at all times
It’s there, smoldering under a layer of soil.
Smoldering, because it’s been starved of oxygen for so long.
Still hot, you’ll burn your fingers if you dig down deep.
You uncover the embers and they scream into life, bright and blinding
Get a bucket of sand, push the flames back down where they belong, hidden so they can’t hurt anyone
But down underground they are still reaching out
tendrils of heat and smoke
turning wood into charcoal
And charcoal burns hotter than wood
It takes a breath of air and burns bright
keeps burning and
ash. Can’t burn, can’t breathe
not like a fire, or a tree
Just blows, drifts on the wind
You breathe it in and it scrapes your lungs
Because even burned to ash
Even when there’s nothing living left
I will reach out
with short-bitten fingernails
And tear at whatever piece of you I can reach
the title was a tumblr post that crossed my dash several times, and then it decided it needed to be a poem.
i dunno man don't ask me I just work here