
Your flame burned so bright,
that I mistakenly thought it was warmth.
I came closer,
thinking I’d be held-
but you only knew
how to scorch.
You were the flame
that tried to unmake me.
But I was never yours to destroy.
From your flame,
I learned how to rise-
how to glow
without burning,
how to love
without losing myself.
Now, when I feel the warmth of the sun,
I am not afraid.
I remember that I’ve lived through worse.
I remember that even ashes
can take flight.
And I whisper,
soft but certain-
I am the phoenix.
You were only the flame.
About the Creator
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