They say every 7 years you’re a new person so, statistically there could be about 11 of me. With so many to choose from, just who am I to be?

An unblemished flower held the first age. Delicate and malleable so that every day, all the rays left it’s impression upon her petals of melting snow. Roots grew s h a k i l y, through desiccated earth and from the light she had to fight for herself. But at last she perseveres to share her abundance, for all that need harvest.

Innocence is replaced with awareness in her second age. And now aware of the home that poisons you flower, you spread wings of ire and bone to abandon the satin blanket of youth. Invincibility is an ebbing glow, tempting, but opportunity in the unknown ahead holds so much more.

And because the little bird is now free, she’s at liberty to be who she wants, no longer chained and tethered to the foundation that withered and drained her.

Follow the wind, fast and far,

But not too high especially without guide and fly she did. And burning she fell.

Into tendrils of ash and ruin where she currently resides,

Her third age came with a price. A stain. - a mar on her life. Little birds’ struggles are a ceremonial shedding of lies but she told herself to be kind. Nothing was as she imagined or what she’d been promised yet she still finds the brighter side, and that’s how she’s survived.

Come the winds and breaking storms, and the pressure that builds and pours,

she’s always there to catch herself. To heal and grow in flames reborn-

she was her light, her hope, and her beacon.

When she opens eyes

blinded from the sun

after fates long tumble ,

she outstretched wings of torn gold

and fire spun.

Now she was a Phoenix.