Words are wielded like torches,
and hit patches of flesh we did not expect.
I breathe fire without insult,
singe discontent, unaware,
and spread consequence,
burning a hole in my confidence.
Leave me ash and shame,
and smolder with my sorrow,
as a stare deep into the embers,
red as all in sight.
The wildfires are strong.
Don’t send me if I’m not ready.
I will only scream what is right.
I cannot weaponize those flames.
So you point your torch,
pressed to my throat.
Fiery scolding is no answer,
when the wildfires have always been here.