009_Icarus Complex
Ive been told the dangers of flying too high for fear my wings may melt. Little do they know, I am born of smokeless fire.
Ive been told the dangers of flying too high for fear my wings may melt. Little do they know, I am born of smokeless fire.
Ive been told the dangers of flying too high for fear my wings may melt. Little do they know, I am born of smokeless fire.
Icarus Complex
Little black boy.
Comet bound.
Falling from grace.
As he is displaced by a place, he once felt home in.
A place he once let his thoughts roam in, only to think out loud and have them shot down by a crowd.
Told to not let them fly too high for risk of touching Apollo’s pride
and joy. The boy scolded as his dreams unfolded.
Told black boys don’t fly.
Told black boys can run, black boys can jump.
But black boys no fly.
That section of the sky is forbidden to touch for boys that look like they’ve already been kissed by the sun.
So, the boy borrows a formula from alchemy, and he places his heels at the edge of sanity.
With no thought he falls into the unknown of what could be.
He hopes to be carried by the winds of change into something better than the ideals that were instilled in him from birth.
Below he hears his family chant his name, only to have reality set in.
Those calls were less of a chant and more of a warning.
*bang*
Holes poked into ideas made to carry him out of his current situation.
He rockets to the ground.
His head comet bound.
His heart falling from grace.
His mind displaced by the fate of those around him.
There he lay, broken wings on his back. A holy figure.
He longs for the sky; he longs for the warmth of the sun.
While his family longs to keep him from going too high for fear his wings may melt and he falls into the unforgiving sea of reality.
The boy never taught to swim, struggles--while these ideas surround him and drown him.
Shackling him to an antiquated anchor of old beliefs.
Again, he is told, black boys don’t fly.
Told black boys can run, black boys can jump.
But black boys no fly.