you are the wildfire
blazing
hot
burning through everything you touch.
fire consumes.
it doesn’t ask
it just takes.
i am the hurricane
magnetic, volatile, full of sudden shifts.
i don’t destroy without purpose.
there’s a warning
you feel me coming -
in your bones,
in the shift of the air,
don’t you?
together
we are amplified destruction.
devastation,
made holy,
like how wildfire scours a forest bare
so new life can take root.
i spin your heat into something catastrophic.
i give your fire breath.
you give my winds heat.
i don’t test your structures to break them.
I just want to know
if anything real can stand
once the wind dies down.
you turn the soft into ash
it’s the only way you’ve learnt to feel full.
but imagine
us meeting tamed.
me, a gentle summer breeze
cool against fevered skin.
you, a warm campfire
crackling quietly,
casting light over quiet faces.
what a perfect night,
what a tragedy…
we were never built for quiet.
i wanted to be held
not contained.
and you wanted peace
but only if it meant
i stayed quiet.
maybe in another life
we’d learn
to hold each other gently
instead of trying to
survive each other.
The Full Version You Wouldn't Hear Out.
you are the wildfire
blazing
hot
burning through everything you touch.
fire consumes.
it doesn’t ask
it just takes.
you learned this young,
you were small once.
reaching for warmth
that was never there.
you learned early
that taking was the only way
to keep from being left with nothing.
i am the hurricane
magnetic, volatile, full of sudden shifts.
you misunderstood what I was.
i don’t destroy without purpose.
there’s a warning
you feel me coming -
in your bones,
in the shift of the air,
don’t you?
together
we are amplified destruction.
devastation,
made holy,
like how wildfire scours a forest bare
so new life can take root.
i spin your heat into something catastrophic.
i give your fire breath.
you give my winds heat.
i don’t test your structures to break them.
I just want to know
if anything real can stand
once the wind dies down.
you turn the soft into ash
it’s the only way you’ve learnt to feel full.
you carried your pain
like a badge/ or a blade.
your damage wasn’t the problem.
your devotion to it was.
but imagine
us meeting tamed.
me, a gentle summer breeze
cool against fevered skin.
you, a warm campfire
crackling quietly,
casting light over quiet faces.
what a perfect night,
what a tragedy…
we were never built for quiet.
i wanted to be held
not contained.
you sat like an armchair psychologist.
armored in your theories,
reducing me to boxes
so you wouldn’t have to feel.
no room for curiosity.
and you wanted peace
but only if it meant
i stayed quiet.
the kind that asked nothing of you,
the kind that let you stay
exactly as you were.
you’re not cruel.
just scar(r)ed,
and safe in the shelter of your damage.
maybe in another life
we’d learn
to hold each other gently
instead of trying to
survive each other.