there’s a girl who deals with fire on a daily basis
the fire that loves, the fire that helps, the fire that hurts
her mother spits flaming words and molten demands disguised as suggestions
her father has burning hands and eyes that leave scorching marks
and every day she takes them on, she breathes it in
she moulds the hurt, the pain, the fire and the ash
into something good
into love for her friends, into love for her sisters, into love for her cat,
into hope that it’ll be better
she cups the flames in gentle hands,
the glowing embers mirrored in playful eyes
and she gives the good parts to people
to people who deserve it
to people who don’t
because she loves indiscriminately and truly and wholly
and it’s no fault of hers if they take advantage of the heat,
of the warmth and the light
if they run like the opposum from the stories, stealing fire from the woman
because here’s a secret she doesn’t know:
she’s got a star for a heart
the sun for a smile
and star fire is different from normal fire
maybe that’s why she’s brighter, ethereal, her personality kinder than people deserve to see
maybe that’s why when her parents cough ashes to try and bring her down,
she gets back up
and moulds again.
