To be Ivar

 I watch him—

a storm caged in flesh,

fury spun into brilliance.

He limps, yet the world limps after him.

He breaks, yet no one dares to call him broken.

I envy the way he burns,

untamed, unashamed—

the venom in his smile,

the blade in his tongue,

the crown he carved from spite alone.

I want that.

To bleed and still command,

to fracture and still be feared.

To stand before the world,

heart a trembling child,

face a conquering king.

Inside, he is glass.

Outside, he is steel.

And I—

I ache to trade my trembling for his roar,

my silence for his storm.

If envy were a prayer,

I would whisper his name to every god.

If longing were a crown,

I would wear his fire until it scorched me clean.

To be Ivar—

unpredictable, unshaken, unafraid.

To bare my bones

and dare the world to bite.