What I am not

I am not

Quiet,

trembling

at your anger.

One flame of many to waver in darkness,

edges of orange to flicker

precariously—

a hopeless cause,

an idle being,

a fire

meant to warm.

I am

weaponized,

wax-melting,

wind-defying

wildfire.

I am trees smoking up, leaves

crisping amid a flurry of

red, mangled bark burnt black,

napalm orange mingled with gray,

this destruction

I can cause

for I am not

the flame atop your frosted cake,

not simply a fire to wane with your wish.

Oh, I wish you knew:

Of this scorching willingness

to prove you wrong

for I am so much more than you think.

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