OK Emerging Ink

Pyrolexia

When they write, they write like hopeless firefighters, they just let the pyrolexia consume them

And I am burningly, scorchingly jealous 

Me, not me, I write like a squirrel

I hide bits and pieces among notebooks, between margins and corners, on notecards and napkins

In notes-apps and half-blacked-out newspaper articles 

I fight the fire by picking it up with a candle and lighting a lantern, and I walk it around, illuminating my world

Then a gust of wind sends me spinning 

And it's dark until something sparks my interest and I take a closer look

And my world is set ablaze again

I burn the paper with my magnifying gaze and let the black hole grow, it extinguishes and I tear it into pieces, bits

Tidbits, snips, like hair from a barber's chair, it falls and is swept up into the pages that I write, vigorously, embers flying

I speak it searingly, sweetly, smoke pouring out my nostrils 

I speak with the eloquence of a decorated author, and the imagery of a decorated Christmas tree

My story is told in ornaments shiny, bright and warm

You can imagine the smell of cookies and the inviting fires glow

And we are back to fire

I will burn again, but only when I have the time