“you are what you love, not who loves you”
but love is not a choice,
i never chose love, or the absence of it
and if i don’t love anything, does that make me nothing?

often times i call you fire.
the warmth of a flame is beautiful,
but it can only thrive in a hollow object
so you turned me into a jack-o-lantern of a girl
and at that time, being empty never felt so comforting.
what i didn’t realize was that
where there is a flame, someone’s bound to get burned.
all i wanted was to not be cold anymore
so you set me on fire.
i guess it’s only fitting that we’re left
shifting through the ashes.

so pardon me for my lack of excitement
when people say that you are what you love.
i LOVED to see how close i could get to the fire before i got burned,
but in no way is my value measured by the blisters
that i’m left with today.

sometimes i wake up with the taste of smoke in the back of my throat.
i swear to god, you’re still burning somewhere inside me.
and as much as i would like a fire extinguisher
or hydrant
or hose
or ANYTHING to stop the flames from coming near me ever again,
i know that if i had a choice between
being cold
or having burns and singed hair forever
i’d still choose you.