The Fire

Who am I?

I am made of fire.

There is a burning in my ribs,

licking at my soul.

There is a flame painted black

in my heart.

There is smoke that fills my lungs

and chokes my desire.

There are embers, hauntingly glowing,

behind my eyes.

There are ashes, created from destruction,

between my teeth.

Who am I?

I am strong, made of pain and toil.

I am weak, made of insecurities and worry.

I am lone, I stand solitary.

I am a synecdoche for humanity.

I am a paradox.

Who am I?

When I call out for water 

my chest is not red. 

When my heart pounds in fear and excitement

my veins are not black. 

When I pump my chest in anxiety and blow out

the air is clear.

When I blink back burning tears

my eyes are green.

When I clench my jaw in fury

my teeth are white. 

No fire is seen,

the evidence indiscernible. 

"There is no fire, you are not burning,

there is no fire, you are not aflame."

Who am I?