More from the hoard. This was also published in my college literary magazine Inscribed in 2000, and written my junior year. I’m not editing before I post, even if I’d do things differently now. In fact, that is likely to be an upcoming project. See the poems here first, in their original glory.
Exploring A Metaphor He's a candle-- throwing shadows On the wall I can hide in, And I want to kiss him-- Taste the flame, But I'm afraid of burning. I can run my fingers through the fire If I'm nimble, quick- Or I can move in close Until I'm warm again-- But I don't want to smother him Or breathe in too much smoke. If I say anything, my words Might be wind enough that he'll sputter out And I'll be left with wax Burning my fingers for a moment only Before cooling into indifference. As of now, I'm too afraid To warm my fingers, or my lips And be tinder to his spark-- Instead I'll wait in his uncertain light Mask myself in those flickering shadows And hope that I'll find my courage Before the wick burns down And I get colder. Me, 2000