She is a phoenix, proud feathered fire.
Ashes smeared on high cheekbones,
Warmth crackling in dark irises.
Wings flare, ready to take flight.
Growth is bore from the death of
Old habits and memories,
Rising anew with luxuriously
Gilded feathers, soot streaked and strong.
To watch her be reborn
I first had to watch her fall. Stuttering.
Steps. Down.
Burning as an ember the whole way.
Confidence stepped out of the
Black fire-rubble, gentle eyed and
Beating heart of garnet.
A new phoenix.
.
.
.
Inspired by a beautiful girl in my life! The next set of poems will be based on females I know, so try to guess who they are☺️
Vote and comment if you liked it!♡
YOU ARE READING
Her
PoetryHer. She is the first girl that stole your breath and broke your heart. She is the girl at the bookstore humming to herself in the aisles. She is the girl who inked poetry into the margines of her notebooks. She is each girl you fall for, each gi...
