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.