How To Burn A Flame

something a little different for me

Digging at the flint with my claw-like nails 

the metal squeaked in 

petulant discomfort, but

I clawed harder, 

blood pooling at the tip of my nails, 

my fingers stinging red. 

It hurts, but that only makes it feel nicer. 

I whimper and plead for even a spark. 

I dig my fingers harder at the stubborn metal. 

The tinny whine of the flint pierces my ears, 

until one screeching scratch 

sets the grey metal ablaze 

and the blazen flame 

roars, 

pretty lion of the night. 

My cheeks burn hot pink with exhaustion, 

and my leg starts to twitch. 

My vision turns cloudy with the smoke rising 

in front of my face, 

and for a second I cannot make out anything 

as I throw my head back in contentment. 

The heat fills me. 

I let it. 

I was twelve years old when I learn to touch the space in between my thighs and make myself feel 

good 

inside.