Her Magnificent Self
Borne from the ashes of toxic love
She worshipped the ground on which you walked,
Even when that ground was she you trampled,
Adoring your every move, your every word,
Your dreams, your wishes and the love she sampled.
***
And yet you broke her very soul,
Destroyed her with your so-called love and desire,
Stripped her bare to her very core,
Set her veins of love on fire.
***
She revelled in your every happiness,
Bending over backwards to light up your day,
Smiling broadly at any attention you throw her way,
Listening to every word of love you say.
***
Until that is you tossed her like she was trash,
Your footsteps imprinted upon her forehead in bloody tattoos,
As you stormed out of the bounds of honesty,
Leaving her in a puddle of sobs and blues.
***
She shouldered your treatment with heavy sighs,
Tolerating the abuse that you called adoration,
The light in her eyes slowly dulling,
Until her love is left in a pile of cremation.
***
Was that your original intention?
To break the back of her beauty and innocence?
To leave her a tangled web of sorrow and pain?
To cull her sheer magnificence?
***
But as you didn’t stick around the kill site,
You didn’t bear witness to her incredible strength,
As she rose from the ashes, a brilliant flaming phoenix,
Rebuilding her esteem, her worth, every harrowing length.
***
Now when the sun rises on another precious day,
She opens her eyes and sends thanks your way,
Grateful for the power and strength you helped her find,
To become the perfect womanly spirit she places on display.
Please click the link below my name to read more of my work. I would also like to thank you for taking the time to read this today and for all your support.
If you enjoy this piece, you may enjoy this one too.
Please visit my website if you'd like more information on my newly published book, Battle Angel : The Ultimate She Warrior.
Originally published on Medium
About the Creator
Colleen Millsteed
My first love is poetry — it’s like a desperate need to write, to free up space in my mind, to escape the constant noise in my head. Most of the time the poems write themselves — I’m just the conduit holding the metaphorical pen.
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Llion the Brave Version 2
Her screams diminished as Llion was dragged away from the cell. The stench in the corridor was less but there was still damp, decay, defecation, death. His feet dragged, like a raggedy puppet, the guard either side of him holding him fast. He could feel their individual fingers digging into his scant flesh, leaving their impression on his bones.
By Rachel Deeming4 days ago in Fiction
Comments (3)
It was all so relatable until the part where she rose from the ashes. Because I'm still lying dead in my pile of ashes 🤣🤣🤣 But I loved your poem! It's so great to have you back!
There were three in my life who treated me with such adoration who I remember treating poorly as I simply could not find a way, with all of my fondness for them, to fall in love. But neither could I find a healthy way to embrace their friendship. I could blame it on be autistic, but I think it was simply more cowardice within me. I pray they found their rebirth as the phoenix each of them deserve to be. And though I have no right or privilege to see them rise, I shall be thankful for it, nonetheless.
Beautiful, powerful. Well done.