The Fire

June 1, 2011
It is here, surrounded in the shadows and silence.
Covered in the darkness that masks it.
It is in the darkest of days that its shining light threatens to break free.
Occasionally, it triumphs, successfully revealing itself for a few mere moments.

Secured inside a seventeen-year shell,
A chamber that continues to live.
If you look deep
Into the darkness,
You will find my fire.

Born out of need
And bred from sheer desire,
the fire was created,
the fire that represents my resilience
and my defiance of others.

Not a day in my existence
has passed without someone critiquing me.
Not one day.

Sure, some of it is deserved, like when I used to rough house with my brothers.
But every day and in every way I was talked down to.
Everyone it seems has an opinion for why I can’t do anything.
That’s where the fire first appeared.

When I was four years old,
I was diagnosed with ADHD.
Instead of blaming everyone around me,
I constantly fought, trying to force my brain
to concentrate.
It’s just great in second grade to fight, flunk, and fail every day.

People said I would never be as smart or well behaved as my big brother.
After forcing myself to concentrate, I became a better person.
Look at little Dylan now.
Can someone in this room honestly think a shy, silent kid like me could be that badly behaved?
Beating my brother was one thing, but a new challenge came after that.

What sport requires more energy and concentration than Basketball?
All people seemed to see, however, was how bad I stunk.
When I first stepped onto the court I was doubted.
So, the fire came back with a vengeance.
Eager to show that I belong.

However, these things mean nothing compared to the fire’s greatest challenge.
I saw the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.
I wasn’t too struck by her beauty to notice how nice and sweet she was.
Because I was a loser and she was popular, I knew that I had no choice but to wait.

I bought her roses. I wrote her this gift poem.
By the way, if you wish to read it, please contact me.
It was so quiet even my thoughts had an echo.
She still doesn’t know how I feel when I look into her eyes.
That joy and sorrow.
So, maybe I should give up, and tear this poem to shreds.

When you strike a match, a fire is started in an instant.
All you need to continue that fire is a spark.
I have started that spark that I need.
Even if I never receive valedictorian honors, I will be on the honor roll.
I’m no Kobe Bryant, but at least I know I can play.
Even if she doesn’t know it or care, she is my secret heartache,

Fire is a marvelous thing.
It’s beautiful with its bright light.
Dreadful with its destruction and pain.

Above all else, one thing stands very clear.
The flood like fire has flowed through me.
It is here, no longer in the shadows or silence, but straight into the spotlight.
Hello, I’m the fire, living in what used to be Dylan.

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