I don’t quite look
On the bright side of things.
I’ve always had Icarus’s wings,
But I don’t have his bravery —
That savory passion
Regarded as irrational
By those who’ve never flown;
By those people who’ve never known
What it feels like to leave the ground,
To have found a claim to the warmth
And to have aimed north
For once in their lives
Even if they wouldn’t survive the fall.

I don’t call that part stupid.
I imagine the fluid movements
Of his flight,
His plight to touch the sky,
Not knowing he might die except —
He did.
His father kept telling him;
Yelling even as they flew —
He warned him exactly what not to do
And he did it.
He flew amid the sun,
And was undone
Into the sea below.
But we all know
That could have been avoided.

The poison of our time
Is our inability to climb
After considering the height.
Not thinking about the right way
To do things,
Because sometimes who’s to say
Which way is best?
Let’s say I need to go west
to get what I’m looking for,
But there’s a shortcut to the east
That takes at least half the time,
So who am I to question
that it’s in the opposite direction?
The only objection to my path is myself,
So I don’t have to listen to anyone else, right?
To some, that might be true.
A lot of people do think like that,
Following their own track
Without a care in the world —
I don’t.

I lack the confidence necessary
To make my own choices,
The voice that condones risk,
Because the brisk air
Of the unknown
Chills me to the bone
To the point where I can’t breathe.
I can say it’s my OCD,
That something’s holding me back,
Tacking me to my comfort zone
Because I’m only home when
I’m in someone else’s shadow —
But it’s more than that.
Or maybe it’s less —
I don’t know; I’m a mess
When it comes to confrontation
And every conversation involving choice
Ends with the wrong answer
On my part.

I don’t think I am smart.
I give my heart to others
Because they deserve to see their value
Even if it means shallowing
what’s left of mine,
And I don’t find a problem
With fleeting love,
With only being wanted when I’m needed,
Because even I tire easily
Of myself.

I don’t excel at leading the way,
But in time I am certain
There will come a day
When we’re all handed wings,
Told careful things
To keep us from falling.
Even now I can hear them calling,
Their voices stalling the flight,
The rapture of light
Capturing my breath,
The threat of death on their lips
As only warmth is on my own,
The sunlight kissing my skin,
My paper-thin existence floating.
As I unfurl the growing distance
From the girl I once knew, 
I carry the decision
Of whether or not
I should listen,
And  —

I don’t.