phoenix
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It took me a long time to realize that the thing that is keeping you going is not always something that you are able to see,
And that even when everyone else is against you, you can not allow them to deter you from who you want to be.
No matter what life decides to put you through, it is up to you to keep going,
And even when it seems like you can't keep going, moving forward is what is going to help you to keeo growing.
Isn't it funny how something that you start doing just for fun ends up being the thing that saves your life?
That it is the only thing that can help pull you through when the rest of the world is cutting you like a knife.
The Phoenix rises up
He rises from the old ashes.His wings are strong and broad,His gaze is undimmed and sharp.Imposingly he is rising into the air.
Wings touch the ground,
beating, beating, against the wind.
Blizzard bound to be coming.
Almost there, almost there,
you got it.
Did you really?
Talons still on the ground,
A blank sheet of paper reflects Light.
On fire, it seems almost blinding
Forcing a change, a moment's narrowing
Of eyes, as you find a perspective-
She was born from fire.AndFrom those ashes she rose.burnt skin-Burnt skin that sizzled down like gift paper that had been thrown into the fire.
Looked down upon as a songbird
With broken wings
Whose feeble voice
Could barely sing,
But the forest floor
Perhaps one of my worst traits is dreaming I dream to leave behind my soft spoken nature To demonstrate confidence I dream to hear the waves of Applause surrounding me. To have the people on the edge of their seats I dream to prove those who call
I cry.
I cry, I cry, I cry.
I drown - my mind draws a blank,
Everyone is flying,
Down, I drown.
One breath of air,
But I don't see the source of oxygen.
I breathe, but small, cautious breaths.
I’m worn and withered from being this bird.
Of fire and ash, ash and fire.
Over and over, morning-born,
evening ebbing.
Waking up weary in the fluttering, frail flakes
burned paper, song, and skin.
This year, I burned myself away
I let myself wilt
Without dismay
Often, I was horrified
A world in meltdown
Triggered my pride
And let me drown
I got up, though
I always came around
A year ago
I wouldn't have known
the girl I see now
I could not have told you how
I did not know me
I was in my own self misery
I was in deep depression
In what I thought was oppression
High five
high mind
Do I write?
or do I type?
Higher than the sky
my wings will burn
I will d i s p e r s e
like ashes
into the
Through the years my heart had been stifled
The childhood songbird lost its voice
And the feathers of its wings were plucked
Until all that was left was withered
Beat to the rhythm.
Tap your toes to the music.
Trapped in these prisms,
This tune is our rhetoric.
Who will speak for us?
What is speech against singing?
Words are all we trust.
I'll often sing a pretty song
It's deep and sweet and not too long
Huntsmen come and huntsmen go
But they'll never capture me you know
I'll never trust you, I'm out of reach
Burn the messagesThe memories char and crinkle until they’re nothing more than what they should have been,what you made them-kindling for the fire burning in the living room of my new house.
*in response to my n'th reading of The Book Thief by Mark Zusak*
It's 11am and 257 pages
The words have rinsed over my beaten and bruised soul
as the rain.
“a hopeful eye first to jump in a sea of fire,still the scorching lesson leaves more to be desired.
I put my feet to the street I've never felt a heat,like this,my souls(soles) melt with each step I take,I wanna make a break, and run for it,like Run Forest!but
Born in the Flame of the controversial state.
They try to burn my fate with bias hate.
I made myself in their image by the time I was 13.
Squeezed my body into the pieces of their machine.
My laugh too boisterous, I learned to snicker.
My smile too wide, I snapped it in half.
She's so innocent, so sweet
Quiet girl, bustling world
Why can't she break free?
Why can't she scream?
Never being noticed or seen
So badly she wants the world to see
Turning, they're turning.
Cogs are swirling,
Vines are curling,
There's 72 songs playing in my head.
Turning, the world is turning.
Phones are ringing,
And I am still pinging.
Like a phoenix rising from the ashes,
I breathe this air one more time,
I get back up, though I was burnt to the ground,
And just like that phoenix,
I may be missing a few feathers and have a few scars,
Rising from the somber ash
Burning brightly toward extinction
Pyres pale against its shadow
Exalted for its penchant for resilience
Take my hand feel the warmth emitting from the sand
as ashes burn I will learn not to break
Fragile soul, what more could be at stake?
Oh dear one, don't abandon me
Oh dear one, hear my prayer
I am like the phoenix.
When I burn, I burn with passion.
I engulf in pain and sorrowful
lessons that twist the flames
in a cyclone of
radiant, red, rotating fire.
The hard way.
the fire cackles, laughing manically as it leaps from branch to branchtreetop to treetop, hollow to hollow,destroying all in its wakenimbly wriggling through the dense undergrowth
So it begins
I sit here behind the window of colors and letters composed into complex coils of golds, whites, reds and blacks.
I contemplate to myself
What now?
My desire to create was stagnant in my mind
We loved together
We laughed together
We cried together
Made memories together
Every year, we burned bright
Faced challenges and obstacles
And burned out sometimes
But like an immortal Phoenix
