Monday, January 14, 2013


I have watched a fire burn so brightly the colors around it turned black.
I have watched the colors of shadows grow and brighten,
encompassing all around them,
as the flames soared higher and higher over me.
                            I could not resist the urge to reach my fingers out…
                                              I knew the pain would come,
                                 as my skin heated over the heat and passion.
The flame burned with a lust that rivaled any I had seen;
It caused in me a desire so strong tears were brought to my eyes.
               But still I reached outwards for it…
                            Longed for that flame to fill my core.
There is a fascination that comes with this kind of longing,
a curiosity of how one can come to own and control it…
I held my own elements,
it wasn’t that I was alone.
The ice that surrounded my heart was given to me,
and I had never before wanted to melt it away…
Yet this fire held my eyes and made me hungry,
made me crave its tongue against my skin.

I did it.
                                                    I touched the flame.
Toying with it for so long only made my soul hotter and hotter.
I did not know that things like this were possible…
The gift of ice was all but forgotten,
no longer cool and solid…
it was cold and hard.
I wanted to shed the ice and embrace the fire…
I did it.
I burned myself and loved it.
                One touch did nothing for me.
I stepped fully into the fire and felt its heat tear apart my skin,
the blisters and burns barely a thought in my mind.
                                    I must own this fire.
                                                                         I must control this fire.
And I did it.
       But you cannot control a flame…
The flame fades to a spark…
        No one wins.
My fire is gone now…
I think I killed it.
But all a fire needs to do is breathe,
it needs air to light it’s spark again.
The burns I have suffered leave their tell-tale marks on my skin,
                                                                             but growing colder
and colder.
I want the fire to rage.
I want to step into it once more,
be hypnotized by its passion
and have it control me the way fire should.
Not to own me,
but to burn with me.

My Idol

People talk so much about who they look up to most in life; how these people shape them into who they are and provide so much motivation in times of strength.

I never really had one of those, simply because I was too stubborn to admit that I needed strength from someone else... But recently I've seen what a hypocritical statement that was, I have always leaned on others for strength, I just didn't want to admit it to myself. But it's time for me to come clean.

I have an idol.
Someone who I think many woman look up to, even if they don't want to admit it.

Marilyn Monroe is my idol.

Now why would I say that some people don't want to admit they idolize her? Let me tell you a little about Marilyn...

Marilyn was orphan and a model turned actress in the mid twentieth century. She stared in many famous films like The Misfits, Some like it hot, and Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. She was a sex symbol and proud of it. She was married three times, all of which ended in divorce, and spent some time in a mental institution after he second marriage ended. She was rumored to have been in an affair with JFK, but this was later proved to be a hoax. Marilyn was reported to have suffered from psychotic delirium and sought treatment from multiple doctors (one of whom was the one to find her body). There are many aspects of Marilyn that people would not want to associate with themselves, but for me she's like a twin... A little cocky to say this, I am aware.

Marilyn was a big advocate of loving yourself more than anything; that being a woman was the best thing in the world, because we have all the power, even if the men don't know it. When looking at her life and the way she felt, I find myself whispering her mantras to myself. She dealt with her own illnesses with a strength and grace that really should be admired. She was beautiful and curvy and loved her body. She always had a smile on her face, and if she can do it, so can I.

Someone told me once (before having been corrected about the affair between JFK and Marilyn) that they would rather be a Jackie, having the seat of power and being the public face of a relationship, than be a Marilyn, having the emotional bond and sexual bond that comes from an affair of the heart. It may be bad to say, but I would rather be a Marilyn.