We aren't a tragedy. We lit the match

(This was supposed to go to my ex.

never sent it.)

Stop calling us a tragedy.

​You keep hiding in the wreckage,

waiting for the smoke to clear

as if you were only a victim of the flame.

​Let’s be honest for once

We aren't victims.

​We lit the match.

​We stood together in the dark,

held hands,

and watched the walls melt

too terrified to admit

how badly we wanted to see

what remained when the structure died.

​Stop shaking.

Stop asking permission to be broken.

​Look at me.

​No one is coming to save us today.

We turned this house into an altar,

​and I am done

apologizing for the heat.