Image courtesy Wikipedia

Image courtesy of Wikipedia


Things are going to be okay;

feathers are falling away,

but that only means

that they’re clearing out places

and space for the new ones.

Things are going to be all right;

your eyes are blinded with light,

but those are just sparks and steam

from the fire inside you

burning until you’re born again.


Slip under the smoke—

crawl a little further—

your bones are melting down,

and your blood’s a little warmer—


but this isn’t the end;

the tunnel’s growing wider.


Soon the pain will fade away.

You were made to withstand flame.


Things are going to be okay;

anchors are meant to be weighty—

and carrying all your doubt and mistakes

is what finally gave you the strength

to rise up and break from the waves.