
The Lament for Icarus by Herbert James Draper
Remember who you were
before they clipped your wings
and said
you're not good enough.
When you laughed at the jokes
on popsicle sticks
and caught fireflies in jam jars.
Remember who you were
before they pinned you down
and demand you stay quiet.
When the worst thing about living
were scraped knees,
weekend homework
and the end of summer vacation.
Remember who you were
before they held you under that magnifying glass,
and scarred your skin with sunlight.
You build your wings again,
with candle wax and childhood dreams,
yet unlike Icarus
you know how the sun can burn.
About the Creator
Josey Pickering
Autistic, non-binary, queer horror nerd with a lot to say.



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