I am weak
And wobble as I stand
Like a baby bird
A phoenix, perhaps
Rising from the ashes
With a bit too much smoke
Left in its lungs.
The old husk
That shell built over many days
Of spring and rocks,
Gentle grass and balmy river
When it forgot it’s name was phoenix
Has been torn off
Too soon, like a scab
And the new skin underneath
Is tender in its infant stage
Under thin and ashy feathers.
Yes, it lives
Yes, it is rising
But one cannot go
From flames to flight
In an instant.
Let it instead be overnight
And let you, sweet bird
Rest
In the meanwhile.
I had a really bad reaction to something I ate a couple weeks ago. tried to capture some of the pain and weariness I was feeling afterwards in this piece. i long sometimes for a world where I'm not always on edge waiting for the next mistake that will leave me debillitatingly ill for hours
