I became a creature of light
in the way that only someone who'd
shattered on their bedroom floor one too many times could.
In the darkest recesses of the hours when
sensible folks were sleeping,
I was losing the
marrow from my bones.
There is a limit
to what even the most terrified people-pleaser can give, and I
felt the jolt of hitting the bottom of the abyss snap the last
of whatever force of will held me together.
No one had taught me about the moment I'd be spent.
I had equations inked inside my skull
and qualifications framed on my mother's wall
and none of it was armor against this destruction.
More terrifying than my empty body was the prospect of
trying to reanimate it.
You can adapt to the crushing darkness the way
deep sea fish have evolved without sunlight,
so maybe I could lie here forever.
But the memory of being
electric
still zinged through my hollow heart.
And there—a tiny spark.
And here—the will to fan the flames.
So I had to learn the hard way
why only phoenixes are reborn.
And now,
baby,
you wouldn't believe how full of fire I am.