Fire During Winter

"She's the one who likes to read."

"I heard her talking about a TV show once."

"Is Tumblr all that girl thinks about?"
"I saw her making a picture, it was kind of artsy but WHO DOES THAT in their free time?"
"She doesn't really talk much, occasionally she'll raise her hand in class."
"She'd so wintry, I never see her with friends."
 
Moments of my life have been spent
dousing flames from fires of my own making,
patching wounds on my heart
and mending parts of me that are broken.
Who I try to be when people notice is: Capable, Whole and Focused. 
 
When no one is around, I falter.
I stumble.
I trip.
I crumble.
With no filter I am vulnerable and uncertain.
 
I am bunched up notebook pages set on fire,
folding in on myself and turning to ash.
I am a tornado of uncertainty 
with the wind of my choices choking me inside out.
Without a filter, I’m a mess.
 
Many judge me harshly,
As if I were winter
With the bite of frost-infused winds
And the chilling nature in an upwards glance.
The truth of the matter is: 
I invite the winter, to stoke
the fire in my viens. 
 
Drowning in my frustrations 
I’m desperate to find a way 
to finish this puzzle of life,
only to realize that I'm blind to half of the pieces. 
Without a filter, I need some place to hide.
 
Tucked away from the prying eyes of the world
I can be the girl behind her books,
the one who prefers to get lost in another land
and tackle dragons that seem simpler than her own. 
 
The girl behind the filter is the truest, ugliest and purest “me”,
the same girl who is walking through life 
and picking up pieces of herself as she goes. 
The “me” without a filter submits
herself to possible irreparable damage.
But, perhaps only when that filter is down 
can I trully find myself.
 

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