Mon, 10/05/2015 - 10:23 -- Daovan


I seem to have this strange obsession with


It burns

It melts things

It destroys

It creates

It is

The Epitome of

My mother

My mother smokes newports

She allows what lies in front of that filter

Filter through her health

Forcing her to choose between

Coughing fits and camels

Mucus clogging her lungs and Menthol 100s

1000s of phrases floating around deaf ears like the flecks of tobacco that waft from her

I used to believe

My mother was

A backwards dragon

Because with every flick of the green/ yellow/ red /sunrise/ maroon Bic

I could see

Her inhale it

Forcing the fire back between her now darkened lips

I used to think

That fire lived inside her

And every time she pleaded for ice water

I could see the smoke lurk from her nostrils and mouth

Letting me know I helped



That fire

That fire


My obsession

I would strike matches

Across the boxes that I would find periodically around the house

Periodically I would strike matches across TV’s

Across car doors

Across bed sheets

Across my siblings

Across clothes

I try to spark the same flame that burns inside of her everywhere she has been

So I can extinguish them all

 Demolish all those tart memories that are burned into them

And sweep away the ashes

Don't judge me

It is a start

Smokey the bear had no idea what he was talking about

Cause sometimes controlled burnings help the forest to grow better and bloom

Controlled fires

Help save lives too

This poem is about: 
My family
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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