He held a lantern close to my face
“Why are you crying?”

I picked myself up and brushed the sand from my open wounds

“No, I’m okay”

I was always raised to be okay.


The next time he knocked me down, I saw it happen

He looked in my eyez

“Why did you fall? You knew what was happening”

I questioned myself, my expectations and set him free to fly with black wings.

“I am okay”

The blood on my soul and bruises on my conscience were of his making, and he asked,

“Why did you let me?”

Then like the Phoenix, I rose.

Rose from the ashes he burnt me in.
Rose from the mud he buried me under.
Rose from the costume he cloaked me in.

“What are you?” He asks with disdain.

“You made me.” I stretch my exuberance of every color.

Men cannot kill nor tame any wild thing. Though they tear the world apart to try.