The Truth About the Girl on Fire
Prose poem
People say, growing up is painful. But to her, growing up means a cycle of never-ending death. Instead of going ‘up’, to grow is to retreat in disarray from all her young dreams crying to be fed with hopes. Alas, she already runs out of those lavish things. Because she has learned the hard way that reality is a demon, and to keep her feet rooted on the ground, she needs to burn herself first to a certain degree — so she wouldn’t be an outcast for not approaching reality appropriately.
She is an automatic living machine, carrying tons of questions about her existence in every breath she takes. That’s exactly how she got praised for being exceptionally sophisticated. They keep telling her the same uncanny compliments about being such a deep-thinker. Hence, she can’t help but wonder, if she ever thinks much deeper than this, will she eventually drown somewhere in this bottomless abyss packed with unknown menaces inside her head?
Some dare to claim her as their angel, not knowing the fact that she was born in a catastrophic realm and was raised in hell. People assume the scars on her body are embedded jewelry they can freely touch out of curiosity. They adamantly say all those carvings are beautiful — accompanied with such horrified looks on their faces.
The others expect her to have a heart made of morning dew with the strength of steel. Seeming to have overlooked the crevices in her chest that overflow with distress and sorrow. She is perceived as the heroine in someone else’s story — holding courage in her right hand, while the left carries pure affection. Being utterly oblivious about how huge her role can be as the main villain in a tale of her own — which affects not only herself but also those who are close to her.
They blindly call her sunshine due to the radiance of her smiles, ignoring the coldness her soul exudes whenever she is present despite the warmth in her palms. She has darkness tattooed on her damp skin — and people think she is a freshly made masterpiece composed of scintillating pain(t) and delightful tears.
Someone tells her about how she reminds them of a summer breeze — calm but fierce, and somehow magical. She wishes they knew that she holds no power to create wonders, rather, she occasionally gives birth to blizzards and thunder. And all the unintended murder cases of those blue irises in the deserted pasture? She might be the culprit who keeps forgetting how not to cross over the lines — those vague borders between being a monster and a lover.
People depict her as the girl on fire, for they believe that the blazing flame in her eyes reflects her strong will to fight against the world. Not caring enough to have a closer look since she often cries for help through her scorching gazes. It almost sounds so comical, but although she consistently burns herself all her life, she’s always been into the ocean. While fire forcefully keeps her wired and alive, water soothes her soul and offers a mild place for her wrecked spirit to rest. And maybe, that is the particular reason why out of all those chances she could have died, three of them happened to be drowning.
