Thu, 03/22/2018 - 23:25 -- kidtyo

In my dream, I was flying. Does it really count as flying if your body is vertical? I always picture "flying" as Superman's favorite mode of transportation. I guess I was floating, higher and higher until nothing on Earth fazed me. Those beings on land were talking, but I couldn't hear them, only the sound of my own voice could pierce through my atmospheric veil of serenity. People would try to touch me and get my attention, and they couldn't because I was so high. Until I did feel a hand on my foot. The lonely, wanting hand was soon joined by another, and another, and another one - until I felt more hands than feet. I looked down and all I could see was a black void, which seemed to come up my body past the hands and wrap me in what felt like a downy cover. Once I thought I felt my feet touch the ground, it lit on fire. The fire was white hot on the soles of my feet and even more so in my soul. She began to crawl up my body and love me; the fire didn't burn me to ashes, she made my skin shimmer like glitter. The pain I should've felt from her flames was intentional, beautiful, raw, and uncut. I loved the pain and the pain loved me. But as I felt the love of her flames, her smoke began to choke me. She was starting to suffocate me and I couldn't see or feel past the pain. I tried to scream for help, but the other people didn't hear me. They just walked around, and they all were unaffected by her flames except me. My screams, in due time, turned into a melody and the song was sexy. The lyrics were spiritual, but the religious beings around me called them ungodly. I still tried to express my need to be saved, but anyone who answered didn't want to be touched by her flames or breathe in her smoke. They thought that her smoke would give them an unwanted high. They would get just close enough to try and extinguish all of the fire and salve my blisters and wounds. But, I didn't want. I didn't need that. What I needed was love, not anymore from the response to my repetitive song, or from her wandering flames. I needed a love not growing alongside familiar headstones in cemeteries, but instead reaching across the fire to touch me.

This poem is about: 
My family
My community
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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