Linguistics student at the College of William & Mary. Lover of cats, Taylor Swift's entire discography, and nature photography.
When you are born into a burning home,
Every ounce of light seems to be a catalyst.
Candle flickers are roaring fires,
And the creak of a wood staircase is a weighted threat.
You see smile lines on outside faces and a rosy glow to their cheeks,
While your skin is covered in searing burns and razor-sharp scars.
You feel the ash hitting your face and smoke billowing into your chest,
While watching sunlight dance on the pavement through a shattered window.
There's no way to take their matches,
They'll be replaced with white lighters before the blaze clears from view.
You learn to tiptoe, watching for tripwires and traps.
You ignore any knocks at the rotting wooden door, as you are used to them being faulty.
You bargain with the moon when the sun goes down
As it is the only one there when screaming blue skies are glazed black.
The stars are torn into the world like gaping holes on silk
Letting fear leak through, pushing buttons with taunting laughter.
You label your life as a sad ending,
One predetermined by your creator, your author.
Singed fingertips trace the ruins of their past,
And you wonder how this burden became yours to hold.
When you are born into a burning home,
The glow of uncontaminated innocence is terrifying.
The smell of soap could be laced with poison,
And the train could be taking you right back to your purgatory.
One morning, when your ember-drenched skin doesn't feel so heavy,
You'll reach up and tug on the doorknob
To find it had never been locked.
It will swing open with a hollow groan,
And for once you will not breathe smoke, but blossoming trees and a hint of rain.
Your skin will not feel scathed, but soft, with the wind leaping at the nape of your neck.
You will see the subtle color of wildflowers, and how they caress the base of a tree.
For the first time, you will be filled with an irrevocable sense of tenderness.
The nightmares of creeping flames on your heels will cease,
And the heaviness in your heart will fade along with your smoke-singed past.
Your epilogue will be soft.
You will find loveliness in the curve of lines and humor in the twinkle of stars.
Every ounce of light seems to be a catalyst.
Candle flickers are roaring fires,
And the creak of a wood staircase is a weighted threat.
You see smile lines on outside faces and a rosy glow to their cheeks,
While your skin is covered in searing burns and razor-sharp scars.
You feel the ash hitting your face and smoke billowing into your chest,
While watching sunlight dance on the pavement through a shattered window.
There's no way to take their matches,
They'll be replaced with white lighters before the blaze clears from view.
You learn to tiptoe, watching for tripwires and traps.
You ignore any knocks at the rotting wooden door, as you are used to them being faulty.
You bargain with the moon when the sun goes down
As it is the only one there when screaming blue skies are glazed black.
The stars are torn into the world like gaping holes on silk
Letting fear leak through, pushing buttons with taunting laughter.
You label your life as a sad ending,
One predetermined by your creator, your author.
Singed fingertips trace the ruins of their past,
And you wonder how this burden became yours to hold.
When you are born into a burning home,
The glow of uncontaminated innocence is terrifying.
The smell of soap could be laced with poison,
And the train could be taking you right back to your purgatory.
One morning, when your ember-drenched skin doesn't feel so heavy,
You'll reach up and tug on the doorknob
To find it had never been locked.
It will swing open with a hollow groan,
And for once you will not breathe smoke, but blossoming trees and a hint of rain.
Your skin will not feel scathed, but soft, with the wind leaping at the nape of your neck.
You will see the subtle color of wildflowers, and how they caress the base of a tree.
For the first time, you will be filled with an irrevocable sense of tenderness.
The nightmares of creeping flames on your heels will cease,
And the heaviness in your heart will fade along with your smoke-singed past.
Your epilogue will be soft.
You will find loveliness in the curve of lines and humor in the twinkle of stars.