the phoenix obtains new life by arising from the ashes of its predecessor.”

i.

when i think being reborn, i do not think in fragments, like segments of a lily, but rather the whole flower, and i am the same girl even after trying to kill various younger, but the same, versions of myself. i have been told it is one of my strengths, to have insight into my own self. i know myself, my identity has not wavered through disease, health, and back again. my physical being has, however, changed every time i murdered my younger self. {like staring up at the night sky and knowing that you’re stationary but not knowing when you are going to dim or brighten again.}

ii.

i was recently called “endearing.” i wonder, would you still find me endearing if you saw the way that lies dance across my tongue, effortlessly? {it feels like daisies forming a noose and tightening with every bit of misinformation i give to those i love.} would you still find me endearing if you had seen the electrical wire wrapped tight around my neck {yet, not tight enough}, and the sadness in the eyes of the girl who made the discovery? {i hurt her, i meant to hurt myself.} i will never forgive myself.

iii.

i fell asleep this afternoon under the buds of an infant weeping willow tree that we planted some years ago. the april breeze lifted my floral dress and settled the hemline to meet my feet once again. i woke up in a cold sweat, feeling heavier, like an anchor had sewn itself into my skin, leaving me to drown in my own front yard. {a fitting death.} the voice {of it} screaming, “if you can’t do it right, you might as well have no purpose. you might as well not be here.”

IV.

a few weeks ago, i sat with a woman on the rocks near my house, biting hard on my chapped lips to keep from overflowing, my intestines threatening to come up through my throat. she refused to leave. another week of maintaining and compensating and obeying and falling was lying like a cup of black coffee, {heavy}, absorbing into the acid-lined walls of my abdomen. the rock we sat on was still wet from the day before’s rainstorm. my skin was saturated with the things i would never, ever say, {i swore}, but she did not hesitate. “i know what you’re thinking.” i collapsed into myself. i had never met a single soul since the age of eight who knew that same exact feeling. we talked in circles, but in the repetition i found comfort. when i go, i hope the universe rewards her with butterflies that age with her, survive with her.

V.

the fear does not come with the success, it comes with the failure. and therefore, i will spend days crafting notes i will never send. my body is fragile and changing, but the sign did not come from my body. “you will help people find or feel home.” that was my sign. like the phoenix, i will find a new dawn tomorrow. even if it is just a step out of bed. even if i don’t want to. i will fold the purple blanket across my body. {i must go on standing.} what could be will always haunt me. what should have been will always haunt me. {being concerned with justice} what is deserving will always haunt me.
haunting is temporary. thoughts are temporary. my body is temporary. faces are temporary. hope is temporary. seasons are temporary. the only certainty lies in empathy.

VI.

i am temporary.