The Phoenix

She was born from fire.
And
From those ashes she rose.
burnt skin-
Burnt skin that sizzled down like gift paper that had been thrown into the fire.
Burnt skin that was charred and dark like the smoothest piece of charcoal had colored her in.
Burnt skin that had shimmered down to a beautiful crisp.
Burnt skin that glimmered down to ash that the wind caught up in a beautiful dance and reconstructed into her.
golden brown eyes-
gold eyes so deep that they could smother you with riches.
so deep that they could drown you with love. 
so deep that they could mesmerize you with hate.
so deep that they could hypnotize you into crimes you’d never regret. Or forget.
so deep that you could still see the flames flickering behind her pupils. Plotting.
A lavishly chaotic voice-
Crushed like velvet
Soft like chiffon
Thick like cotton
Rough like jean
Smooth like silk
Seductive like fire.
Encompassing hair that seemed to float-
float like ashes in the breeze
float like rouge sparks
float like the scent of smoldering wood
A stormy compassionate touch-
it encloses you
it seduces you
it caresses you
it burns you 

She was reborn from the ashes surrounding her.
She was burning until she found the light.
She learned to love herself and found the light.
She was born again.

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741