Young Phoenix
People always romanticize early mornings and late nights, the ones where you’re left alone in the bed that still smells like him. You almost feel like you’re trespassing every evening, and even after the fifth wash and you know he’s gone, you will still want to gargle bleach anyways.
He was always leaving you to your own destruction, called you “sweetheart,” while you were bleeding inside. Be a good girl, pick yourself up off the stripped mattress, listen to the songs he couldn’t stand and sing every fucking word.
Dress down, dress down until you can finally recognize yourself, see how every curve of your body, even your spine was not the mark of his chisel to your mold. You are too powerful to be bent to his will, stand. He can no longer take credit for your own creation.
Kiss yourself, please, in the mirror. Become your own late night date, and every early morning coffee. Drink it black until it tastes so bitter you can taste his name. Then add two sugars and cream. See how even the coffee transforms into something so beautiful, you’ll need another cup.
Become something he can no longer touch through the phone screen. I just want you to love, wash those sheets, Hell burn them to the fuckin’ ground. He can’t pick through the ashes you’ve already risen from.
