She is the reason I am afraid of fire.
She burns, she scolds, she tears at my flesh
Relentless from the moment my shoe hits the floor
Of the cage that should be my sanctuary.
He is the reason I dream to be more.
A wrinkle on his brow brings me more pain
Than a stinger to the iris,
Bringing back the picture of his dust
Passing my childhood by.
She is the reason my love is not forgotten.
Though selfish and frugal,
I would gladly kneel before her as a stepping-stone,
As though my pain were minute in comparison
To her short-lived task.
He is the reason my time is never private.
A meaningless figure watching my movements,
I will never see him as more than hot air,
Or a decoration hanging on my front door.
She is the reason for my existence.
The finger that put me into place
In the jigsaw we have all come to join,
Before leaving me to my own devices
And finding my own way to fit.
And I,
I am the reason for the blood on the floor
Without the privilege of feeling guilty
As my luminescent liquid spills to the ground
Of my own bewildered mind.
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Author's Blab: Class work #3. If it's not obvious (which evidentally, it's not) each stanza is about a different person I know. Blah.