Relentless witness to my quiet thoughts,
It circled me in warmth.
Beneath the weight of my untangled knots,
I traced my scars, as sun embraced the peace my mind forgot.
I’ve watched as it set… without an ask,
And did not beg the sky,
Against the slow breath of the clouds,
It simply went, no promise made, no last goodbye.
Just like a faithful exile, I wandered home,
At night, I stood in mirrors,
To wage the quiet wars I always do,
Against the contours of my own becoming.
One heartbreak and one hurricane,
One fevered constellation,
I’m stitched in flesh, I live through pain,
As seams give in, with every move…and every transformation.
An aching architecture? Yes, of course,
Threaded through with trembling faults.
Designed, just like the rest of us,
To scorch my hands trying to touch the flame,
That distant shape, the cruel illusion that in this world…. we call perfection.
I may never reach it, as nothing’s quite enough,
The edges keep shifting, the pursuit always rough.
But just like the sun—unbidden and alone,
I let my core consume me, for with each wound I’ve grown,
Not to arrive perfection, or to conquer the sky,
But to burn as I am, without asking why.
I am a flame in the dark, imperfect, not complete,
Alive in the ache of my scaffolding, and in the fracture of my heartbeat.
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