I stand at the edge of memory's clearing,
watching my childhood home consumed
by flame, by the cruel erosion of time,
each beam of laughter crackling,
each wall of safety collapsing inward
like a prayer spoken backwards.

The wildfire sweeps through everything:
Saturday mornings thick with pancake steam,
the way sunlight used to pool
in the corner where I built my kingdoms
from cardboard boxes and infinite dreams.

I am paralyzed, a child again,
hands pressed against invisible glass,
screaming at the inferno
that devours the sanctuary I called home.

Smoke fills my lungs with the bitter taste
of all I cannot save:
the creaking floorboard that announced my midnight wanderings,
the kitchen table scarred with homework tears
and birthday cake celebrations.

But listen
in the crackling of loss,
in the hiss of vanishing,
something else stirs.

From the white-hot core of grief,
wings unfurl like broken prayers
learning to fly again.
I am the ember that refused to die,
the stubborn spark,
to the hungry flames of forgetting.

What rises from these ashes
is not the home I lost
it is me, transformed,
carrying the warmth of every moment
that mattered enough to burn eternal,
my heart a furnace where love
learned to make itself immortal.

The phoenix knows this truth:
some things must be consumed
before they can become holy,
before they can learn to soar
on wings made of everything
we thought we'd lost forever.

I am both the fire and the rising,
both the child who watched it burn
and the child who learned to fly.

When red apple roses rise from my head,
Know that the earth has embraced me, now dead.
I'll rest where roots wrap my bones in the ground,
And bloom through my silence, no longer bound.

Their petals still whisper the things I once said;
In death, I will part with the cage of my heart.
So grieve in my garden, but know it’s my home,
For beauty will grow where my love ever roams.

magnolia’s cream-mottled cheek
   marking yet another bygone era
   plunked into the abyss as sorrow
   burrows into us, roots that become

our prisons / our refuge, the delirious
journey into what we've come
     to recognize as our shadow selves'
   last fragments of a fallen season

that last slanted sunset reflected off the lake
hinting with its brilliance at what we simply
could not admit to ourselves. The expanding
distance between us we hide in and seek thereafter

In
Summer ,  
Before the fall
Into resolve
Time has healed.

Chin up
Shoulders back
Powerful stride

YOU!
Have been found

I raised a black flag high with pride,
A banner bold I could not hide.
It screamed of strength, of “I won’t fall,”
Of standing firm, of having it all.

It waved through storms I would not flee,
A symbol carved with “only me.”
I bore it like a soldier’s crown
But oh, how silently I drowned.

Each triumph inked in darkest thread,
Each vow I kept while dreams bled red.
I thought this flag would make me whole,
But bit by bit, it cost my soul.

Then came a moment, still and bare,
No crowd to please, no need to dare.
I dropped my fists. My knees grew weak.
And for the first time, I let peace speak.

A white flag trembled in my hand
So soft, so plain, I couldn’t stand
To think this could be strength at all…
But it was strength to stop the fall.

I raised it slow, unsure, ashamed
Expecting loss, expecting blame
But as it rose, I saw it shift
This white was black, the truest gift.

Not stained in rage or empty gain,
But marked with mercy, healed by pain.
It bore no name, it screamed no “I”
Yet in its silence, I could fly.

And then I knew—how blind I’d been,
The black I held was never kin.
It led me through a thousand fights
But never taught me wrong from right.

This white flag wasn’t giving in
It was the start of truth within.
And every thread once dyed in shame
Now stitched a soul that chose to change.

So here I stand, no flags held high,
Just open hands beneath the sky.
Not conquered no, but born anew,
Freed from chains I once thought true.

That white I feared to lift in shame
Became a fierce and quiet flame.
The black I chased a mere disguise,
This white revealed my truest rise.

Its threads now stained with all I’ve braved,
A banner raised, not lost but saved.
This is the black I now embrace
Born pure, reborn through time and grace.

Music from another time
Begins to fill my ears,
And my mind gets flooded
With memories of then.

Memories of happiness,
Warm like a sunny day in April;
Memories of love,
Ever-consuming and euphoric;
Memories of agony,
Hollow lies and hollow heart;
Memories of confusion,
Fog flooding my mind at all times.

But there is one memory that stands out more than the others:
The memory of my death.
How I slowly lost my spark,
And was too aware of the cold.
How I slowly lost all meaning,
And just wished for an end that felt real.
How I slowly lost myself,
And I wasn’t sure if I was worth knowing anymore.
How I slowly died,
And I didn't even realize until I built myself up again.

I didn't die with a last breath.
I could feel my lungs inhale and exhale the air.
I didn't die knowing I was dying.
I thought I was getting better.
I didn't die, in my head —
I kept moving, too fast to notice.
But I died in my memories.
And realized only now.

But I was born again.
I'm not writing from my grave,
I'm writing from my pedestal.
Like a statue rising from cold stone,
I carved myself into someone new.
Painful, like sculpting pieces of myself out
From the block of marble I'm working on.
Slow, because I only have my own hands
And no other tools to work.
Strong, like the quartz
I chose to use and cherish.
Elegant, like the lines and curves
That I'm chiselling.

I died.
And when I tried living again,
I got killed.
But I already died twice.
This time, I'll grow wings
And be the strong phoenix,
Returning from the ashes.

i try to see
the bright side
every day,

but deep down,
i’m scared—

my nerves
frayed,
worn thin
like overused threads.

i spent years
simply surviving,

keeping my head low,
waiting
for the right timing

to make it out
unscathed.

but cuts
and scrapes
still touch the surface,

and the light
inside my heart
flickers—
on repeat.

i know
what it’s like
to feel something,

but life
isn’t fair,

and the pain
i bear
makes me question:

will i remain
broken forever?

or will i
break free
from this cycle—

free from
the fear—

and like a phoenix,
take flight,
rise from the ashes,

and finally
fix my broken heart?