The Architect of the Fire

You watch me from the distance of your comfort,

Measuring my life by the inches you’ve gained,

You see a storm brewing in my steady eyes,

And call it a tragedy, a spirit that’s stained.

"I feel sorry for her," the words fall like lead,

As if you’re the judge of who wins and who loses,

But you only see the scars that I wear on the outside,

You don’t see the strength that the inner heart chooses.

​You say I won’t survive the weight of the anger,

As if this fire wasn't built for a reason,

As if the world hasn't been cold and demanding,

Changing its face with every new season.

What you call anger, I call my foundation,

The bricks and the mortar that keep me upright,

It’s the heat in the engine that drives me to glory,

The spark that keeps burning in the dead of the night.

​"No one can help him," you sigh to the shadows,

Folding your hands in a hollow despair,

But I never asked for a hand or a handout,

I never asked for your performative prayer.

Help is a word for the people who’ve given up,

For those who believe that the ceiling is real,

But I’ve been dismantling the sky since my childhood,

Showing the world what a spirit of steel can feel.

​You see a dwarf and you think of a fable,

A character written for someone’s amusement,

But I am the author, the king, and the table,

I am the motion and I am the movement.

Whether I’m five or I’m fifty-five years,

The anger you fear is the blood in my veins,

It’s the refusal to bow to your narrow-minded tears,

It’s the power that’s snapping your pitying chains.

​So keep your compassion, it’s far too expensive,

It costs me my pride and it costs me my name,

I’d rather be "angry" and truly intensive,

Than "pitied" and "quiet" and "gentle" and "tame."

I will survive because the fire is mine,

I will survive because I don’t need your light,

I am the sun and the moon and the design,

Waking up every morning to win every fight.

​Look at me clearly or don't look at all,

I’m not a lesson for you to be learning,

I’m not a warning of how people fall,

I am the furnace that keeps the world turning.

So keep your "sorry," and keep your "sad,"

I’ve got a life that is vibrant and loud,

I’m taking the fire that you think is so bad,

And using the smoke to build my own cloud.