May 21
Icarus Blackmore's picture

How Many

Google Search:
Vincent van Gogh.
I was in art class.
When I got the alert.
Santa Fe High School,
Shots fired.
No casualties reported.
That was all it said.
  
 “What are you doing?”

My substitute art teacher inquired.
I showed him my phone,
He donned a grim frown.
His brows knitted together,
His eyes brewing with barely restrained anger.
Then he asked a question.
    
“How many?”

I paused, and looked at my phone.
    
“None.”

I said.
And for a moment I felt,
A kind of bitter sweet hope,
That maybe that was true.
Maybe no one would die this time.
Maybe this one wouldn’t be,
As bad as others had been.
Maybe…



That dream had--
Unbeknownst to me
--died
by the time
I climbed,
Down the stairs to
The ninth grade lockers.
At least one injury.
May 12
Icarus Blackmore's picture

Monsters in the night

“Go upstairs and sleep,
It’s late, past bedtime,
And the adults need to speak,
Remember to turn you night light on.”

“Is it because of the monsters,
That await me in the dark?”

“Come now, you’re too young,
To concern yourself with such things
It is not your job to take
 the weight of world,
Upon your shoulders. 
It is not your responsibility,
To right all the wrongs,
Of past generations.
Your still just a child.”

That may be so.

But what of the children,
That lay face down on asphalt,
Inquisitive minds spilled,
Upon the streets like splatter paint,
Their hearts bleeding onto concrete,
All because “They might’ve had a gun.”
Were they too young to face,
The monster that is hate?

What of the children,
Too young to know,
The name of the country,
They are in,
Never mind that of,
The one they left behind,
May 12
Icarus Blackmore's picture

Silence

There is a kind of silence,
That we know all too well,
It is the kind that comes,
With the absence of words,

Like darkness it creeps in,
Hushing the evening crickets,
Until they chirp their melody,
No more.

It rolls in upon the clouds,
Like a particularly warm summer heat.
And settles upon the meadows below,
Like a chilly fall wind, that,
Brings with it the bite of frost and snow.

It is not a comfortable silence,
But it lays there still, 
Like a tapestry pulled over the sky,
It lays thick across the night,
Beckoning forth beasts that bite.

But there is another kind of silence,
One like the rumble of bullfrogs,
Over the plink of a pebble,
As it crashes against a pond,
And send ripples skittering out,
Towards those same bullfrogs.

It is the silence of a city’s hum,
After you return from a place,
Apr 28
Icarus Blackmore's picture

The Words we Choose


There’s an old idiom,
”Sticks and Stones 
may break my bones,
but words can’t,
do a thing.”

It had fallen out of use,
Even before I first 
Climbed the steps to Kindergarten,
But the philosophy lives on.

“Look it’s just my opinion,”
—A friend defending saying,
that even though I identified,
as bi then, I was or would 
become a lesbian.
It was the first time I learned, 
I could be “too gay,”

“Look you know it was a joke,”
—One of my peers after saying,
That I should be careful,
Around my queer friends,
Because they’d “turn” me.

“Look it’s just the truth,”
—A friend of a friend,
After saying that,
She didn’t have any 
problems with me,
Just with those girls
who “pretended” to be bi,
“I know one who hasn’t, 
Even dated a woman.”

“Oh my god that’s a total cop out,”
Apr 28
Icarus Blackmore's picture

The Words we Choose


There’s an old idiom,
”Sticks and Stones 
may break my bones,
but words can’t,
do a thing.”

It had fallen out of use,
Even before I first 
Climbed the steps to Kindergarten,
But the philosophy lives on.

“Look it’s just my opinion,”
—A friend defending saying,
that even though I identified,
as bi then, I was or would 
become a lesbian.
It was the first time I learned, 
I could be “too gay,”

“Look you know it was a joke,”
—One of my peers after saying,
That I should be careful,
Around my queer friends,
Because they’d “turn” me.

“Look it’s just the truth,”
—A friend of a friend,
After saying that,
She didn’t have any 
problems with me,
Just with those girls
who “pretended” to be bi,
“I know one who hasn’t, 
Even dated a woman.”

“Oh my god that’s a total cop out,”
Apr 24
Icarus Blackmore's picture

Disaster Waiting to Happen


She was brilliant and they told her so,
So delighted were they to alight,
The spark that swelled in her eyes,
That they forgot ‘The spark that burns,
The brightest dies the quickest,’
And so she was made—
Like matches at a gas station—
A disaster just waiting to happen.

Adults used their kind words,
And gentle tone to soothe her,
Told her how kind and gentle she was,
So that she might look away,
From the harsh words given,
To her peers day and after day.
Like gun powder next to a fire,
She was a disaster just waiting to happen.

With her teachers and parents  praise of every A,
They gave her a deep fear of receiving an F,
And with their joy at her success,
They inspired within her,
A fear of failure so great,
She could only tolerate herself,
So long as she maintain,
The image of ‘perfect,’
Like a loose cigarette at a fireworks stand,
Apr 12
Icarus Blackmore's picture

Interrupted Poem


I saw the ice on the lake fall back,
Revealing deep greens and blues.
The water lapping in what was,
Almost a sort of apology—

Buzz,
Three dead. 
Not your typical shooting,
A woman,
YouTube Headquarters.

The chilly winter air is still,
And quiet, almost too quiet. 
The bus is not, it rattles on.

Text a friend,
Let them know.
The same one,
I texted before,
About how to stop,
These types of things.

Quick words pass,
In an almost silent exchange.
If a conversation is never spoken,
But between two people,
Who’ve spoken those words,
Many times before,
If you call for change,
But receive polite quiet,
Does it count?
Have you really made a sound?

Out there it is cold,
In here it is warm,
Out there people are dying,
In here I’m safe-
But I’m not.
That is an illusion that
Mar 29
Icarus Blackmore's picture

Revised

So, I guess this is my official coming out on the site? I’ve kind of written pieces on this before, but I do believe this is the first time I have openly and plainly stated I identify as nonbinary. I realize this is probably confusing for those who have known me, back when I was still figuring my gender out.

At the time I knew I was not a boy, and really didn’t know I could be anything else besides a girl so I took on that label. As I would later figure out, “I don’t really feel like a girl,” is not a common thought for girls to have, however it was one that crossed my mind more than once. Given the stigma around non binary people I suppressed it, and moved on. Around the start of this year the thought started to come back and really insist on being heard so I decided to actually consider it.
Mar 28
Icarus Blackmore's picture

Why I marched

Why I marched.

In social studies we're learning about WW1,
And I read a proganda song as a parody,
Because surely I thought to myself,
No one would be so crazy that they would,
Tell a ninteen year old to "go and get their gun."
Then the news alert came in about Maryland,
And my mind drifted to Parkland.

On Saturday I mached sign in hand,
Through the cold and the snow.
My jacket carefully zipped up to the collar,
The line between child and marcher,
Became just as blurred as the snowy sky.

And on the fourteenth I stood,
Right outside my school, in silence,
Watching 6th through 12th graders,
File into the parking lot,
Waiting for the bell to ring,
seventeen times.

And just a few days later the fire alarm rang,
Confusion swept over us at this unplanned alarm,
And I made sure not be the first out of the classroom.
We shuffled out into the parking lot,
Mar 23
Icarus Blackmore's picture

The bird

The child sat upon the bed, their knees bent, their eyes closed, as slowly they took a breath. After a moment they let it rest, feeling the air settle upon their chest, before letting it out, so that only their ears remained open. They wished they weren’t though, for they feared soon they’d heard the sickening “Ca Caw,” of the crow that perched right outside their window. But although the call was gastly, the bird itself was ten times worse.

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