Matches Burning on the Edge of my Flammable Promise
- Kirsten Wilson
- Nov 19, 2024
- 2 min read
I’m on the edge of the promise
I know because it’s never been more easy to strike a match
and light everything good on fire.
"oh to set it all ablaze!"
the matches scream from my weak-willed hand.
the promise is wonderful, I know it is true…
and the matches in my hand - well they do too.
they whisper to me that the choice is already made -
that in my heart it is already done.
I’ve resolved myself to burn it all, oh it would be so fun!
"strike us, let us burn,
let us lick our way up
until everything to charcoal is turned.
give every promise to our claim
strike us - no shame!
and strike us again!
flame us all out until your promise is at end!"
but I haven’t.
I haven’t given in..
so far it’s only one hand on the matches,
and no hands on the striker...
it’s lively really.
I’m teetering in thin air, like a bird before diving:
I’m on the edge of the promise
or on the edge of burning.
I’m higher than I’ve ever been:
I haven’t destroyed it yet,
but I haven’t tasted it yet, either.
I could go higher...
but the matches wish I would fall to the ground and fertilize the earth
they burn to burn my promises.
and I’m high on the thought of burning them and receiving them -
nearly the same.
why is it the promise seems most fragile at its strongest?
i can see it, i can smell it,
yet...
it feels the weakest.
it is at its most flammable because it’s so close to me -
me and my matches.
if only I could taste it, if only I could reach it!
if I laid my hands on the promises, surely the depraved woman inside of me would be the thing to burn
and not the glorious God given blessing at my will to be spurned.
it’s my choice, the flame is directed by my hand - do I light a match?
does my heart will it?
if I turn my hand
I could ruin everything
or if I restrain, on the edge of the most flammable promise
the matches in my hand will be crushed
by the weight of their glory.
I must resist further:
it is clear.
the louder the matches scream to burn on the edge of the promise
the closer it is to being here.

marry me
lots of love
washeed b'hum