THE FIRE

aint natural to be

dancing on a wick

leaning to the east

leaning to west

leaning to the whispers

of the familiar wind

resisting the beckon

of the blaze

because they say you better

here as a candle

say you softer

and prettier

when you’re contained

say you safer

say you too risky

when you wild

but they don’t

feed you enough to live

and the frustration

of being unable to

spread and burn

more than a flicker

more than a singular flame

has melted the walls

around you

burning you down

burning you out.