from a pegasus, i was a feather plucked.
drifting through the air, i wonder where my right hand went.
when i clench my fist, there’s nothing there
and as my eyes roam the room,
there’s not another soul in sight.
alone in the cold,
shelter had to forcibly be found.
fleeing through the flames, my stinger fell away
as a charred and scarred phoenix emerged.
aware to the deterioration of the world.
the anger and pain ran down the line,
until the line met me.
i’m different but i’m still growing.
from scorpion to phoenix, here’s to growth.
