This is how I felt about the only boy I’ve ever truly loved. I didn’t know him long, and I haven’t seen him in years, but his memory remains within this poem.
There is a fire inside me.
A match, ready to be struck
lingering in the depths of me
under my skin,
maybe even
somewhere in my stomach
right below my heart
and right above
where your hands touched my waist,
when you were saying goodbye.
And it burns.
You set it off,
the match that’s
inside of me,
you and
only you.
The fire rages on,
unable to be put out.
You might be the only one
who can stop it,
yet you continue to feed it
with each new day.
And it burns.
I can’t tell
if it’s love,
or desire,
maybe it’s just
the pain I feel.
It might even be
a mix of the three,
all coming together
destined for disaster.
And it burns.
I never knew anyone
could start a fire this bad
without even knowing they
caused it,
but you did,
so you walked away,
unknowingly,
leaving my insides to be eaten away
by your flames.
And it burns,
and burns,
and burns.
