There was so much energy soaring through my heart.
Every word created embers,
And the fire in my soul was unstoppable.
Word after word, sentence after sentence,
Without a chance to stop.
Why stop when I'm still burning?
As the fire grew and grew,
I fought to feed it.
I fought through wind and rain,
Through dust storms and blizzards.
Despite these attackers, my fire burned strong.
It burned and burned, quickly becoming bigger and bigger.
I watched as the fire that belonged to my fingertips took over my hands,
My entire body.
Enveloped, I watched as my hands turned to ashes,
And my arms grew blackened.
I fell to the floor in a pile of dust,
Desperately trying to spark a new fire out of mere broken pieces.
I didn't stop to catch my breath,
Building my body out of ashes.
Now, my lungs filling with smoke,
I didn't feel alive again.
I tried to spark my body again.
When matches didn't work,
I tried gasoline.
"I will become alive again," I said to myself.
To be lively, to feel the fire dancing on my fingers,
It would keep me from losing everything.
Still, I remained dead, a pile of dirt,
And my will to survive died with my fire.
I stayed for a while, waiting for life,
Waiting to become lively again,
But no one ever came to bring me back to life.
So, I rebuilt my feet out of mud and looked forward.
I dug through my head, trying to find a reason again,
Walking through a forest of uncatchable fire.
My purpose became lost in trees,
And sadness began to kill what I had rebuilt.
Fire returned on its own.
An ember sparked not on my fingers but in my head,
Where it belonged.
Finally breathing, I took care to tend to the fire slowly with important knowledge:
Burn out is dangerous.
Here's a poem that's probably way too long about why I was gone for a while. Don't worry, I'm okay! Thanks so much for sticking with me.