I've grown accustomed to fire.
I'm even learning to breathe it.
If I want to win I'll have to drink it in like life water.
My inner turmoil will have to be drowned by dust and arena lights.
My doubts and fears will shutter at the sound of my war cries.
Grit will have to well up in the pit of my stomach and overflow out my throat.
I'll have to feel every inch of my body burning, and I'll love it.
I'll live for it.
I'm going to have to learn that focus is a state of mind not a mood; intensity is a choice not an emotion.
My demons will be shrieking their giddy laughter and my angels will be flailing to save me.
That's how I want it.
That's how it's going to be.
Everything I've longed for is slamming into my lap and I will fight for it.
I'm not letting go.
Not for a second.
So I'll douse myself in fire and let it wash over me and I'll run through it like a child in the rain.
I want to be baptized in it.
I'm looking for it and praying for it.
And I'm scared for you because my fire is burning,
and I'm going to pitch gasoline on it and let it burn.