icarus

he/she :: an archive of soon to be forgotten thoughts

[dandelionsinthepavement]

☆---- welcome to my account -----☆

key . . .

original poetry ; #icarus.poetry

talking about poetry / general ; #icarus.speaks

updates about my account ; #icarus.update

asks ; #icarus..asks

fair warning . Im very inactive and dont know how this app works very well . Im not good at writing either but Dont be mean

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(A/N : most of this is ass. It's not good. This blog started when i was fourteen and very very suicidal. It's clumsy and not at all polished. Its got corny and overused metaphors. most of it doesnt even qualify as poetry or creative in any way. please dont be mean.)

[a-message-for-the-stars]

A Butterfly’s Tribute

In the murmurs of dawn a butterfly rises

In a mission to follow the unseen path of life

the air was heavy and coated with a sense of dread

The path of life that the butterfly once followed had faded

Perched on a small girls grave the butterfly starts to speak

“I once knew a little girl with a heart bigger than head twirling nights away with ribbons longer than her tired arms”

Gaining a small audience the butterfly took flight

“I once knew a little girl, her eyes were as bright as the sun and as deep as the sea. She sang like a bird with a smile on her face”

Recalling landmarks where the girl spent her time and perching on each one the butterfly continued

“I once knew a girl who was the bravest kid alive she climbed mountains with ease as her hair blew in the wind”

Returning to the grave the butterfly stops

“I once knew a girl who I will always know, a girl that you know too”

[dandelionsinthepavement]

my father's love, my first broken bone.

My father says his job is not to teach me to live, But rather how to live without him. A father's job is not to comfort, But instead break you enough times that you find your own comfort.

My father was the first one to break my heart, the first one to break my rose-tinted lenses. My father tells me that they would do me no good. He tells me the world will not change to fit me, I will adapt. My father mocks the tears in my eyes, He does not wait to mock my broken voice.

My father tells me that I need to try harder, or I will rot in my existence. Does he not know that was my plan, because what point in there in trying? My father does not give me a reason to try, and so I return to it.

My father promises he loves me, and yet my father was the one who held me the tightest. His love left me with bruises, and his warmth left me burnt.

My father taught me that not all love is kind or gentle, sometimes love is harsh words and a cold stare. It doesn't make it any less loving.

[dandelionsinthepavement]

a pianist among the flames

I am playing and the room is on fire And the keys are on fire And my heart is aflame And my body is drenched in the warmth And the orange red hues engulf the earth But my fingers are still moving And the music is still playing Because the world may be burning but I am alight I will play despite the way it burns I will play until I cannot feel And the world is left in silence As the ashes of my piano lays alone

Because I am playing And the audience is watching The audience is the ropes of blinding heat that wrap Around my feet On the well loved leather stool Which surely will not survive I thank it for holding me By playing a scale that starts with F Until I burn up

But the house is on fire And my lungs are burning with Ash-filled air But I will breathe As long as I can feel the keys And they will let me play A song i know so well The same one That was played on my own heartstrings Before they too Were set aflame And now I sit, in a silent land Of ashes and burnt sheet music.

[dandelionsinthepavement]

It's my 2 year anniversary on Tumblr 🥳

[dandelionsinthepavement]

there’s something festering in my bones, the tension between each fragile ivory piece thickening day by day, the longer i wait the more painful it is to keep moving, each movement, each breath, sends a searing pain through my body, starting from my ribs, spreading through every part of me until i can’t feel it anymore. the nausea is something you get used to, the pain is fresh each time. the scars burn deeper each time. the careful dip of the knife pushing itself further into the newly stitched together skin, the tension splitting like worn out ropes, skin pulling apart and the blood, like wine, pours slowly between the gap. is this how jesus received the blood of christ? how much bloodshed does it take for your robes to turn white, your head to turn to lilies. does the blood bring forgiveness? or is it the pity? is my sufference a sin? or am i the prized lamb for sacrifice? is my pain worth your prayers? will my God forgive me? will he dress my wounds and soothe my ills? does my ignorance stand at the gates mocking me? will God cast his eyes upon my fingernails, caked with blood and dirt, and laugh? 

[dandelionsinthepavement]

You are stood in front of a mirror And your own face stares back. Your eyes darker, colder You've never seen yourself like this As you watch your own expression turn You feel the clocks slow How long have you been like this? How long have your teeth been so sharp? How long have your eyes been so dark? How long have your hands been this red? When did you grow up ? When did you stop praying? What time did the clocks stop counting at? Did you beg? Did you want this? Do your movements echo his? Do you hear his voice in yours? Did you notice yourself change? Did you even try to stop?

[dandelionsinthepavement]

cigarette smoke hand-me-down jackets, tea stained teeth — gravel driveways. record player that you broke dirtied hands and cracked lips shoes with no souls/soles & hands with no heart to hold broken down on the side of a highway tasted like being fourteen and alone forgot that you were bold you never did as you were told now you're stood on the side of the world watching in.

[projectiondepartment]

every time it rains i think of that raymond carver poem. poetry is like prayer to me methinks. or an incantation

[projectiondepartment]

this one btw

[aubriestar]

october peered through corn stalks

the past year rustling on parched

husks desiccated & parted

a deer path to the apple tree

i stood silently watching summer

drop to the ground a blur

of red & yellow vibrancy

each a day, a fleeting moment

powerful eye contact as

a deer munched summer’s fruit

neither of us could look away

©️-Aubrie-2024

[dandelionsinthepavement]

a craving for that cold metallic warmth hidden in quietly thrumming veins under layers of skin so easily peeled away a less than graceful habit tasting a mouthful of red — slowly dragging it out through teeth and skin and lips that linger a sickening craving, a hunger — swallowing like a fire being smothered hands stained and head reeling a pathetic need, a curse. fangs brushing against flesh & a harsh hound, a bloodthirsty canine your torpid movements and a devotion to those who will lay waste to you.

[dandelionsinthepavement]

to begin, you must drag your fingers accross your own clumsily stitched wounds, learning that you are not alone in your unhemmed edges and imperfect stitches. The body you are gifted is not one you own, think of this as you stare in the mirror. Breathe in the scent of familiar candles and watch as the flame grows higher. talk to yourself, every moment you get alone. Never stop talking. Watch as that flame loses it's warmth. Cut your bangs with the kitchen scissors, think about a childhood full of arguments and other things you can't remember. Your body has changed now, it's shape, it's pros, it's cons. You're taller, harsher, lonelier. Parts of you haven't changed. Part of you wonders if you grew up at all. You have to speak to that eight year old girl who just learnt what it meant to want to die. You have to watch as you turn eleven and everything changes. You have to remember that your body is not yours to control. You have to watch as those wounds are cut for the first time. You have to watch as you learn to savour the taste of metal in your mouth, bringing fingers to your mouth. You need to let your hair grow out and your scars heal.  You need to learn to speak again, to let your voice be heard. You have to relearn that death is not your defining moment. You have to breathe the life back into your own body.

[a-message-for-the-stars]

Sundays in Hell

Listening past the crackling fire, you can hear the sound of bells.

Heard by all yet mentioned my none

There is a sense of mourning that comes with Sundays in hell

An unspoken rule of what not to say

Today the bells were louder; a sense of dread rules over the burning valley.

A man approaches you, his purity a distant echo.

His stories, his angels

None of it is real in hell, like it was on earth.

You gain an audience as the man with a burning soul asks to take you to heaven,

Again, a place that isn’t real.

He apologizes, you did not sin, you do not deserve the burning of hell.

The offer is there but a knowingness fills the room.

There is too much ash in your hair to become an angel.

The lights of heaven would blind you, the water burning your skin.

Blurred lines separate heaven and hell.

If you had not sinned before you certainly had now.

You are not an angel, even if you were before.

Today, the man learns from the one place he hates.

You can fix everything you break.

Some things stay broken.

[dandelionsinthepavement]

The sickening summer sun scorches our backs, Keychain's clinking on a well loved backpack, Shoes worn and stained, laces untied — Endless days, sunsets and nights: untimed. Sat in empty bathtubs and in crowded cafes A boy who wishes the world away. Cobbled streets and Bookstore meets Alone and forgiving, ever patient. Your boyfriend will meet your mother, Mine will be called a sin — Mainstreet, words digging into skin like a knife; Rushed away by the crowds – It echos. Professors and students, young and old. Brother and sister, mother and father. Me and You ; The daisies on campus are the same that stained your favourite jeans – Different soil, different time ; still yours.

[flagellant]

[havingapoemwithyou]

bible study by Tony Hoagland

[feral-t33th]