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 Apr 2013 Icarus M
Kari
We would never work. I need stability and security. I need safety. But you, you're inherently unsafe. You seek out chaos and conflict intentionally because you think it's interesting. If you were on the Titanic,you'd be pouring champagne and singing while the ship went down. Everyone would be screaming, getting into  lifeboats, and you'd be standing there on deck, with your glass of champagne, laughing, and you'd still find your way off the **** boat without even trying.

Are you familiar with the story , "The Monkey's Paw?" There's this magic monkey's paw, like a rabbit's foot kind of, and it grants any three wishes you want . The problem is, for every wish that comes true , there is a terrible, huge cost. Being with you would be my wish. You're  everything I want, and everything I'm not, and you would ruin me. You don't consider consequences, and if we were to end, you would move on to the next experience that seems interesting. But I would never recover. Being with you and losing you would devastate me so much that I can't even consider taking that risk.

You're like a high -risk investment. You could make me extremely wealthy, or I'll end up on the street.

I've never known someone with so much anxiety and so little fear.

Face it, the reason you're into feminism isn't because you want to raise up other women-- it's because you want to be held to the same standard as men. You know you're not just better than most women you meet, but that you are smarter, fiercer and more ambitious than most men, too. You want to be recognized as the best PERSON in the room, not just the best woman.


Do you really want me to try and stop you? You don't , because no matter what I say, you're going to do it. If anything the best way to discourage you is to encourage you, but you'll still do what you want anyway.And if you choose not to do it, it won't be on moral grounds, but just because you want to deny yourself a passion to prove that you can say no to yourself, that you have control, and that's not much better than doing it anyway, isn't it?
You are the strongest woman I've ever met. You hardly ever know what you want, but when you think you want something, you go out and get it. You never hesitate, you ignore your fear, and you don't care about morality. Sometimes though, you feel ashamed of yourself , and hide in your charms. You do it for so long and try so hard that you forget yourself. Don't forget yourself. You seek out people who have the passion and motivation you think you lack, but you have these things more than anyone. And most of all, you are powerful. I can't explain the power that emanates from you, but it's like a force of nature. You can't hide it and you shouldn't. You need chaos and conflict and madness to keep going, because you ARE chaotic, conflicted and mad.You need to stop feeling guilty and afraid of yourself, and be the person you are, not the person you think you should be.
This isn't a poem, but it's so poetic I needed to share it. For four years, my friend Neil and I have played a game of cat and mouse. Tonight has finally had a conversation about our feelings for each other and why we can never date.

Probably the most egotistical, narcissistic thing I've ever written but I've never heard anyone describe me so perfectly. Neil knows me like no other person does....

Also it's a bit choppy, had to write all of this down as quick as I could before I forgot the things he said.... Sorry!
 Apr 2013 Icarus M
Cielle
sorelle
 Apr 2013 Icarus M
Cielle
this girl asks me, "gotta minute to spare?"
chapped lips and misty-eyed
while i stare enviously at her thighs,
wishing i could taste that milky white,
sits down, touches my hand
and tells me,
"the moon is dying",
something i already knew
but i cry anyway

babbling incoherently into her hands,
brush a finger over her shoulder,
dotting freckles in constellations,
the speckled stars of her irises
combust into molecules
scatter, running freely away

oh girl, we could tread these muddy waters,
traverse the land on our bare feet
and wipe the filth off our skirts
but come sundown,
we'll still sleep alone.
sorelle, Italian for "sisters".
 Apr 2013 Icarus M
Lucky Queue
I have no fancy words for you
Nor any spectacular things
But I will give my heart to you
And my love flies to you on wings
I love you more than anyone
And I've never loved this way
For you, my love, and what you've done
I don't have enough to say
You've made my head absolutely whirl
With just the thought that you are mine
I'm not the brightest or prettiest girl
But I tell you that when our fingers intertwine
Then I seldom feel loved more
The words you speak, each touch and kiss
Makes my lips curl into smile and heart soar
And when we part for a minute, you're missed
Even in my deepest slumber
I breathe your name
When your antics cause me to wonder
I still feel the same
I have no fancy words for you
Nor any spectacular things
But I will give my heart to you
And my love flies to you on wings
I've never lost love for you
It has only ever grown for you
So I tell you once again,
I love you
2.15.13
 Apr 2013 Icarus M
Patricia Drake
Still listening
For that beat
Still trying
To find
That beat
Within
So I may sleep
So I may dream
That I am awake
 Apr 2013 Icarus M
R
Let me tell you a story about a busy steet in a busy city in a busy country in a busy world.

Somewhere near the end of this busy street in a busy city in a busy country in a busy world, there was a flowershop.

It was a lovely old place; an elegant building surrounded by beautiful gardens with daisies and daffodils and roses. It had bird baths where the cheery cardinals and bluejays stopped by for an afternoon splash, and even a sprinkler for the young children to run around in while their mommy's and daddy's were picking out pretty flowers.

Now, inside this flowershop, there were rows upon rows of pots filled with any type of plant you could imagine: dragonsnaps, lilies, zinnias, tulips, the whole lot. Baskets of flowers hung from the ceiling, overflowing with bright colours. Every once in a while, petals would rain down and the entire shop would look magical.

Everyday, people of all ages would dash into this flowershop. Men in suits, looking to find the perfect gift for their dates. Ladies in dresses, picking out just a little something to look nice in a vase on their dinner table. And of course, the gardeners, with their overalls and ***** fingers.

So, as I said, busy people on a busy street in a busy city in a busy country in a busy world would dash into this busy flowershop, then dash back out and get on with their busy lives. Always looking for the most ravishing type of flower, the ones that could catch your eye as soon as you entered the shop. Never focusing on anything else.

What no one realized was that there was a small flower placed near the back wall of the shop. It was never moved; always been in the same exact place ever since it arrived at the flowershop years and years ago. The owners had stopped watering it, so the flower was beginning to shrivel up. Most of the petals had fallen off and were now laying in a sad little pile on the ground, and the few that remained had turned the colour of black.

The little flower got sicker and sicker every day, but it never lost hope. Every time the suited man stopped in, or the lady with the dress, or the ***** gardener; the flower would use its last bit of strength to make itself noticed. It stood on its tippy toes, perking up and spreading its wilted petals and frail stem as much as it could.

No one saw.

Then, one day, when the owner was sweeping the floor of the flowershop, he saw something near the back wall. Something broken. Crumpled. Blackened. Ugly. Dead. Something that once was beautiful until it stopped being noticed; stopped being loved.

You see, in a busy flowershop on a busy street in a busy city in a busy country in a busy world, no one's ever going to notice a wallflower until it wilts.
Yes, I'm aware that this isn't a poem.
 Apr 2013 Icarus M
Mike Hauser
I feel so sorry for these creatures
What is it they do all day
Stuck behind this wall of glass
With those blank looks on their face

Have they ever tasted sweet freedom
Or were they born inside their cage
Do they even know any better
It seems their lives are such a waste

Over the years they sure have fattened up
Put on a bit of weight
Do you think that those who feed them
Have changed their diet as of late

If I could just lift this latch
Then I could set those creatures free
But I'm not even sure these stupid animals
Realize they have the need

*Sat and said the Zoo Monkey to his friend...
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