Icarus's Archive

A place for my poetry. Some casual musings, some melodramatic and some a little violent

[the-icarus-archive]

Glass

A poem about dissociating from abuse

One strike Would only crack the glass Two, three More cracks, but the glass is whole But hundreds? Hundreds of strikes across years? The glass breaks Three pieces fall Yet the strikes do not end More and more appear Until the glass s h a t t e r s Countless screaming pieces All conflicting All with different memories of their shattering And every time they re-fuse Every time they melt back together There's a new strike Not not to them To the wall The door The cup on the table And they s h a t t e r on instinct

[the-icarus-archive]

Finding Home

An expression of queer sorrow, joy, and grief for a childhood never lived.

I'm in first grade I sit alone on a swing set and cry My best friends found cooler friends We don't talk again I'm in second grade I swing alone I say I prefer it this way I have no one to talk to I'm in 3rd grade I swing with her I like her She makes me feel not alone I'm in 4th grade She says I'm weird Girls can't like like girls I swing alone I say it's better this way I'm in 5th grade I swing alone I don't cry And I don't try to talk to anyone Suddenly I've reached Freshman Year He's my best friend So is she I sit with them both Maybe I'm not alone Then I'm in Sophmore Year He's my best friend… She won't accept that I'm a boy I sit with him Then it's Junior Year He only sees someone to sleep with I find a new friend We sit together Finally, Senior Year arrives My new friend graduated So we get lunch, every saturday He knows I'm a boy And I know, I have found a brother

[the-icarus-archive]

Blood and Bone

Poem about identity struggles/trying to fit expectations

Body horror/gore below the cut

A mess of blood and bone Splattered across every surface Every living thing Blood stains clothing, never to be removed The grout too, And the crevices of skin But no matter the effort It won't come back together Yet still I shove the shredded meat and skin Together with the bone shrapnel in the sink, the esophagus still gurgling on the floor, the hair on the wall - now a grotesque wig, the teeth stuck in the cabinet door - a sick set of dentures And I try to bind it all With the drying, sticky blood coating every surface Try to pull it out of clothing, the towels, the sink I morph this mess into something presentable A grotesque smile, teeth going every which way Wide lidless eyes Soft gurgles A heart no longer beating Maybe the mess is better this way A mouth with no more need to eat Hands with no reason to be held No brain to spew thoughts No heart to pound away Maybe the mound, the corpse Will be better than the person