FEAR OF ASH

i must be on my third or
fourth lifetime by now as
the notwantedness of rejection

can add years without compassion.

after lifting the bitter wine
of heartache to my lips
again and again
with the willingness of a volunteer.

because i raised my hand
in the classroom of chance
thinking "pick me! pick me!"
i deserved to finally be called on.

and knowing a fire is too hot
does little
in eliminating the desire
to touch it. and that's just

the way it goes...

until one day our hands
are charred with experience
and blackened past the point
of saying "no."

and the finger we'd love to point
at someone else
is burnt and curled
towards ourselves,

we become fascinated
by our own disfigurement

we'd clap our hands
but for fear of ash.