The Legend of The Phoenix

                   (In 12 parts)  

 

It was said that in a lost Arabian desert, the sun convexed and gave birth to a bird with eyes like golden windows and feathers that mocked its incandescence; a cosmic masterpiece. The sun, foreshadowing its symbolic legacy, deemed the bird Phoenix; creature of deep reds and vibrant yellows like untamed fires. 

 

1. She is a stuttering soliloquy. She is clenched fists and locked jaw. She has scars etched across her heart like she's been fighting wars with her love. She's a tattered soul of a woman with the infinite patience of one who has learned to live broken. She's all too familiar with the consequences of vulnerability. 

 

2. Her life story is a series of unrequited love letters red inked in her family's "I told you so"s. She wears the weight of her past around her neck like a noose. It's no wonder she has trouble breathing.

 

3. I remember she once told me that she was unworthy of praise. That this gospel, this temple of a body curses her like a plague. How she is no more memorable than the dreams we leave behind on wrinkled pillow cases. How she is no more holy than the sins we will one day repent for. I remember she once told me how she was born into this dark. How she  does not know the heat of light and love and beauty. How loving herself is a language too foreign for the curl of her tongue. I remember she once told me how she was undeserving of the air within her lungs. How if you placed a bottle of liquor and pills into her possession, she'd kiss your palms; a grateful shipwreck. 

 

4. How do you convince a bird born with clipped wings that they are meant for flight?

 

5. Young and naive, I fumbled for words to attempt to ease a trauma much more profound than I. But now, years later, I wish that I could rewind time so I can tell her that she is much more than the darkness that she calls home. That she is more than the trauma that haunts her in her dreams, that she is more than the doubt that dances in and out of her ears. That she does not have to be a victim of her past. How her past can only break her if she gives it the consent to. I want to tell her that she is more than the shame that pins her spirit to a cross! I want to tell her that she is resurrection! That she is wonder and fight! That she is beauty and love and light and love and love and love and love. That she is Phoenix; descendent of the sun; a cosmic masterpiece. That she is too wild of a fire for her past to smolder her flames.

 

6. I heard once that tears of a Phoenix can heal all wounds so

 

7. cry. Until you can not cry anymore. Until your self esteem resurrects from its grave with a new definition for light.

 

8. I want her to know that she is mistaking the shade of her wings for the darkness that she can not escape from. That

 

9. her past can be the wind in which will guide her to a brighter life.

 

10. I still see her in the hallways. I still see her in the hallways trying to convince her shadow that she is someone worth following.

 

11. After one thousand years of living, the Phoenix gathers the sweetest herbs and twigs and perches them atop the highest tree; a makeshift coffin. Then, it gives into its own flames leaving remnants of stardust for ash but beneath it all rises the Phoenix in youth reborn from its past with wings wide and open like desert sky; ready for flight.

 

12. You are a legacy in its prime; a cosmic prophecy destined for monumental triumph. When will you unclip your wings? The universe is waiting.