for candle wax girls who play with fire.

1.
altar girls serve so they have
a room to light their hair on fire--
alone in a sacristy is where
i learned i have skin made of wax
& watching myself melt is 
an art form only meant for solitude--
this is what the tile floor
is for-- bleed in fat hunks of wax

2.
my mother braided my hair into a wick--
there's something comforting tugging 
at you roots like the bristles of 
a broom-- we didn't mean to
catch on fire so easily
but there's nothing you can do with
a body of wax

3.
happy birthday & other days
i lodged my feet in a tidal pool
of a vanilla icing-- he made me sugar
flowers to adorn my feet--
step on the marble cake snake--
i can't remember how old i was
when i first felt my blood
grow thick and drip

4.
i'm becoming shorter
but better at lighting matches
beneath myself

5.
self-destruction is hereditary--
an advent wreath crown-- call 
me pink candle & at least
i'll know you'll buy
another body when you burn this
one into a toad stool--

6.
keep lighters in the top drawer
of the desk

7.
i buy matches in case 
i decide i deserve to melt tonight

8.
do you see my hair on 
fire in the window-- i look
out & make a star out of my
wax body

9.
This is divination-- this is 
measuring where the wax falls 
on the pentacle to ask if morning
was something made for you
or if you were a born with 
a wax body to give the illusion you
had some say in how quickly you fade

10.
i never asked you if you wanted
to blow out the candles--
i'm not your wish or your promise--
singed hair & flint tongue

10.
i'm not bleeding for show

10.
i light matches to watch
my own body contort & change--
it's such a shame it takes
fire to shape a body--

1.
strike the match
& sing your body rapture
on the windowsill--
you call me your candelabra--
i burn-- i drip--