THE FIRE

aint natural to be
dancing on a wick
leaning to the east
leaning to west
leaning to the whispers
of the familiar wind
resisting the beckon
of the blaze

because they say you better
here as a candle
say you softer
and prettier
when you’re contained
say you safer
say you too risky
when you wild

but they don’t
feed you enough to live
and the frustration
of being unable to
spread and burn
more than a flicker
more than a singular flame

has melted the walls
around you
burning you down

burning you out.