Those days are past

Last year I was an angry angry little girl. I used to write angry angry poetry. Angry graphic poetry. The anger and the hurt isn't so much fun to look back at, but sometimes I go back and read the poetry that arose from that anger and hurt. It's kind of therapeutic. The past can't be changed, but I can learn, or the future will be just as bad.
While rereading poems about Innocence and Little Dahling and umbrellas I found a little gem that I wanted to share with you. It's about six months old and one of the last things I wrote. You see I just woke up one morning and didn't need to write anymore.

So for your enjoyment:

Phoenix

she spun too slowly
to see the debris
raining off her wings
clinging to close
to the past
she had left behind
the buried won't rise
to see new days
life was best forgotten
in the days that passed
she learned to smile anew
shedding glitter
from her fingertips
she was blinding
when she wiped the war paint off
who knew
there was porcelain
hidden beneath the covers
of a murky past

casting off the world
the old grime crumbling off
rising
shining
with a fire from within

she flew into new tomorrows
glittering from the dust
of new days
screaming terror
from the lost days
as she shed no tears

tomorrow
is always to come
yesterday will never return

shining brightly
up towards you
don't tread to close
you will be burnt