Green with envy
Fly away green
Green grow the lilies oh
Swear by green
What am I going to do now green
I want a new job green
Kill all these bitches green
Go away green
Make me a better person green
I don’t care green
When the sun peers into the sea
It doesn’t see itself at first
But when the reflection is clear
The sun is riding on the waves.
I wrote this in 5th grade and I’m still kinda proud of it even though reflections need light or whatever and scientifically it doesn’t make any sense BUT there’s this weird place where writing takes you where things don’t have to make sense to make you feel good.
Shakespeare class 2005, Lynchburg, Virginia. The girl sitting in front of me was furiously scribbling into a green marbled (graph paper) composition notebook. I asked her what she was writing and she said she was writing a novel. I was totally impressed because I had tried writing a novel by hand in high school and I totally failed.
She went on to say that she was going to finish it at the end of the month because she was writing it for National Novel Writing Month. I had never heard of that before. I wanted in. She said it wasn’t too late for me to start.
for Icarus, 2016.
They say I took the most beautiful dream in the world and destroyed it. Burned it up and my useless life right along with it. I got exactly what I deserved, what Pride throws out to everyone who fails. Death and Shame.
No one remembers we were trapped there too, blind and starving for the open sky. They said, “Give us your magic or else.”
Bloody feathers on the floor. But our wings didn’t break and we flew away and YEAH after eons of darkness I flew, unbroken, into that radiant sunrise.
Now they tell you my story with a warning, “Don’t break the rules or you’ll end up like me. Don’t go too far or you’ll end up like me, don’t get too close to what you love the most or you’ll end up just like me.”
They tell you, “Never reach for more than what you are capable of catching.” Which isn’t much. Which isn’t anything. Bloody feathers on the floor.
Remember the stories of the heroes Bravery and Hubris brought safely home? Remember those beloved by the gods? Those who tasted victory instead of defeat?
My story is not their story. Now, because of me they tell you to be cautious, be wary, be afraid.
They don’t tell you what my dream was or why it was so important. They don’t tell you my only dream was freedom.
Photo Credit: Landscape with the Fall of Icarus, Pieter Bruegel the Elder.