Don't Watch Me Burn

 I have dragged this friendship

like a deer through frost

shoulder to shoulder, heart in my mouth,

while you

stood still,

pocketing excuses

like stones.

I have lit beacons with my breath,

left breadcrumbs in the dark,

stayed soft in the mouth

even when my bones begged to snap.

And still,

you only show up

when it suits you.

Don't tell me you’re busy.

We’re all busy.

But I still made room

in the hollows of my day,

between trauma and healing,

between grief and survival.

While you

you lingered like fog,

never fully here,

never fully gone.

Slick with evasion.

I am not a scavenger.

Not some rodent

your inner fox hunts for sport.

I am a wildfire

with hands.

I gave you warmth

and you kept stepping back,

just far enough

to feel me,

but never enough to hold me.

You say “friend” like it’s a featherweight thing,

a badge you dust off

when it feels convenient.

But friendship—real friendship

asks for blood,

for sweat,

for truth,

for presence.

And I have poured it all.

Without measure.

Without pause.

You know it.

You know it.

So let me be clear:

If you want me,

show it.

Not with crumbs.

Not with clever excuses

wrapped in delay.

But with effort.

With action.

With fire that matches mine

If you can’t do that

then step aside.

Don’t linger in the doorway

while I pack up

everything I planted in you.

Because I am not yours to lose.

I am mine to reclaim.

And once I walk

truly walk

you won’t find a trail to follow.

No ashes to cradle.

No echo to answer.

Just the scent of scorched earth

where your chance used to be.

So go on.

Keep chasing myths.

Keep ducking beneath your own weight.

But when you finally look up

and I’m gone

don’t you dare call it abandonment.

Call it what it is:

a reckoning.

A fire

you chose not to meet

with flame.