Burning Fingers Juggling Shots of Hot Fire

something about
the way you
did something
reminds you that
you’re here: right
where you’ve
always
wanted to be
completely alone
and there’s a kind
of freedom
that makes you so
free that
you actually wish
you weren’t, because
it’s terrifying
being so responsible
for you
no one else to blame
for indifference
abuse or neglect
just you
writing your very
own future and
history in halting
awkward often-
accidental stanzas
drunken staggering
steps forward
sometimes but
side-to-side or
backward usually
but it’s you
only you dancing
this dance, writing
this curious fiction
and no one else.
and so doing what
you do, you realize
that: it’s one thing
to write about
freedom
or to talk about it
imagine it, wish for
it, and another
thing altogether to
live it when
you’ve got it
right there
right here: a bulging
flare of
possibility
and you at the helm
head-scratching
knee-knocking
unfortunate little you
holding hot
what you’ve always
always wanted.