I Set Ablaze

I set ablaze the staircase of my first memory,

-a spiral of self-doubt, vivid and always dancing in the back of my head when I hear my mother tongue-

closely followed by a brown, worn-down couch and a stuffed toy filled with hatred.

I ignite the memory of a lock and key, lost long ago perhaps at the hands of the one with the fingers running circles between my legs.

Back then I had felt the fires rising through my stomach, churning my insides;

and I felt the heat arising through my throat. I spit out a storm right after,

the familiar burning of shame crawling through my skin,

hushed nothings of my worthlessness.

I set ablaze my room, a canopy bed, ballerinas looking into my core while dancing on the walls.

I learned to hide here, sometimes against my will.

And I set myself ablaze, the parts of who I was that I can no longer claim,

hidden long ago behind closet doors.

I fucked up oh so many times, learned to fix messes with the skin of my fists gracing the walls

and biting back tears and words I never learned to let go of.

From the ashes of my childhood I hope to regrow into something –someone- else.