Flick,
Crackle,
Flick.
A candle will continue to burn
And,
If you’re not careful,
If you don’t watch it,
The fire spreads.
Untamed, wild, hot.
They call me “little flame”
I burn,
Whether that’s out or not,
I burn till there’s nothing left.
My fire became out of control at a young age,
They tried to blow me out, but it only made me Grow.
Control slips from me.
I smell delicious, come closer.
I’m the candle your mother brought out
When the guests came over.
But, get too close and I’ll burn you too,
My fire is unpredictable.
I crave your warmth,
But I’m terrified of my heat.
And you are too,
So I crackle alone.
Awaiting for someone to crave my warmth Before my smell,
Someone who knows not to touch the flame.
Someone who won’t try to blow me out.
Crackle,
Flick,
Crackle.
Author’s Note:
I’ve often felt unlovable, especially lately. In this poem I tried to understand why, and the reason childhood feelings still flicker.
Jocelyn | 15 | Twinsburg, OH | @jocelynrose_official_ on Instagram
