Fire Dance

My heart dies everyday;
You have awakened it's fire-

A vivid portrait, I'm afraid,
Of breathing in slights
I remember now,
Being undeserving of.


You shudder,
And I sway
Just left or right
To balance the trot we tamper with.

As coy and tempered as I, underneath it all stirs relentlessly
Foolishly and weak
Reaping already
Starved seeds sown,

Then plucked.

If it's not seeing me that scares me,
It's being seen.

Rot with havoc, intestines turned,
I Un-nerve, paralyzingly my own body-

The thought of being burned again is a memory of melting flesh and the smell of brazen fire, against freckles for ash.
the scars intrude far past my skin, leaviing the lingering of agony,
Even in the after-math.
What is a burned girl and is she desirable for dance? The dance that made her what she is?
It took me once.
And now, I can't say I recognize what's been made.
Is there still love even beneathe my fresh flesh?
Is it worthy?
Will the audience have me?
Will she ever be loved?
After, all

I am just a burned girl.
What grace in Cindered pores?
What God in ovens of power?
I can't tell...

Has the fire won?
Have I let it?