I Died In The Fire

I was feeling my usual self one evening: a little creative, a little angry, a little impulsive, a little assertive, a little melancholy, all at once.

Have you ever seen them mold steel? They pour it, molten, into a form. Then they pound the shit out of it. As they do that, bits of slag fall off, a crusty coating of unnecessary crap. They then plunge the steel into cold water to temper it, giving it added strength.

I wanted to capture that feeling. A feeling of moving forward without the slag. I wanted the past to guide me, not define me.

I don’t quite relate to the idea of a Phoenix as others might; I wanted to feel like the parts of what I don’t want — shame, guilt, worry, anger — could be left behind, and that I can walk away and take the parts of me that are me — hope, caring, strength, resiliency — into the future.

I feel the fire would consume what and whom it is meant to consume.

So I did the thoughts-into-words and words-onto-paper thing …

I Died In The Fire

Pushed my past into a pile

Stacks of pain and overgrown shame

Kicked in some loose regrets

Poured on a whole can of truth

My voice was the match

Tossed at the heap, turned to leave

Didn’t look back because

I know that bastard’s going to burn

Flames so bright

Path ahead filled with light

First walking, now running, reborn and alive

The ash will feed my future

As far as I know

I died in the fire.

— Laurie Kinsman

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Lighthearted Look: perhaps this was 50% inspiration and 50% aspiration …

Bonfire photo by Jordon Conner from Unsplash.com.