Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Icarus M Oct 2014
In one day,
she discovered herself.
In the next,
she restarted her life.
She put books, movies, and mementos on a shelf,
and in the bottom desk drawer, she secured away her knife.

In one month,
she was smiling again.
In the next,
she could see, for herself, a future.
All of her sadness had suddenly disappeared, like bathwater through an open drain.
A new approach to living, she felt mature.

In one span of time,
she made a mistake.
In the next,
she had plugged the tub and uncorked a bottle.
A tidal wave of rolling destruction left in the wake.
From bad to worse as more pressure added to the throttle.

And one day,
she hopefully will figure out,
whether she wants the lights on,
or to take a different route.
Icarus M Jan 2014
I need a sharp

Stretched     taught
and dried
eyes staring.

Dipped in red
and put to parchment.

A bird's surprise
to carry a message
a call.

A warning to flee,
now fly,
and bring the men galloping.

was a factor
A pipe dream    unfair.

To trumpet's song,
and ****** battlefields
bathed, enriched
in history.

To be told
and retold.
I just wrote. I didn't read it, didn't think about the whole. Just stanza by stanza, so it's probably pretty terrible right now. And now the title. But I don't recall what exactly I just wrote. So, I guess I will call it "Deer Death." As my own double meaning, play on words, with visualization that doesn't quite make sense. You don't have the full picture, but feel free to fill in, and color your own into my words.
Icarus M Nov 2013
What is a poet?

A poet is able to capture a feeling with words.
To adeptly potray one. single. instance.
with words.
With scribbled, illegible
Or cleansingly, typed
clear, crystal, words.

am not a poet.

I am a monkey,
deftly punching on a typewriter,
finger smashing keys,
expecting Shakespeare
to appear on a backlit screen
or a pure white notepad.

I am,
not a poet.

I am the grouch,
in a trash can.
Yellow moss on a rock,
pointing south. South.

I am not,
a poet.

I thought I dripped words
like blood out of my veins.
I thought my muse,
was darkness.
Then the sun came out.

I am not a,

I am a high school English paper.
I am the run-ons,
too many ands,
too many commas.
Not even a proper sentence.
I am the red-marked essay.

I am not a poet.

And I have nothing else to say.
Inspired by Rob Rutledge's "This is not a poem."

© copy right protected
Icarus M Sep 2013
Where can I go?
Can I go across the road?
I am a chicken.
I find this a bit funny.
Icarus M Sep 2013
Just tell me I cannot hurt you.
Tell me I do not matter.
Me: fallen, broken, wingless.
I reached too close to the sun, and now....I
Cannot glue myself back together....For I am
Hurt. By my failed ambitions.
You                                                   ­                              ripped
And now I lay barren.

© copy right protected
Icarus M Sep 2013
I just want to curl up
and give up.
Practice my lines
and snort a few lines.

Let me fall into bliss
not drown in a vat of chocolate bliss.
I want to be in the fetal position
not this life and death limbo position.

Give me a reason to
and I will give you an excuse.
I will tell you the truth for a reason
and you will give me an excuse to.

Change the conversation to focus on you
and I will steal it back to me.
I want to help you,
but I will steal it back to me.

Don't want to be here,
you don't have to hear.
I promise not to share many more
if only I couldn't breathe any more.
Trying something new. I don't snort lines, it just felt right for this poem.
© copy right protected
Icarus M Jul 2013
Today she broke down crying into a watermelon,
and as her spoon dug deep into it's tasty flesh,
tears collected in the corners of each eye.

And as the juices squirted onto her hands to run down her arms,
her shoulders shuddered.
And she cried.
And she didn't know why.
why why why why      
She whispered.
Her lips moving to repeat over and over again.

And I stood near to her,
and watched over her.

But I could do naught for her,
or her chest heaving, racked with sobs.
And her eyes gazed heavily somber.
And her lips trembling, cracking, disappointment.
And her spirit falling, crumbling.

I watched her all the while,
and stared,
where a woman,
a strong woman,
had confronted her inner demons,
and lost;
and was replaced by a shadow of herself.
© copy right protected
Next page