you twist my words
and ask, “why are you upset?”
i’m not.
i was just monotoned.
tone lost in text,
lost between your questions,
lost in the quiet patience i offered
while you poked and prodded
until i flared.
you lit the match.
poured kerosene over my flame,
and smiled
as i burned—
and yet
here i am,
seeing you for what you are,
the firestarter,
the one who feeds on smoke.
i’m tired of burning for you.
tired of ashes in my hands,
tired of hoping you might care.
i crave the rain.
the soft peace of a cloudy day
where i can breathe
without sparks landing on me,
without you calling it love
when it’s only fire.
and maybe one day
when the rain comes,
i’ll watch you sputter,
and the smoke you wanted from me
will choke only you.














