icarus falling

There are so many poems about icarus. i
suppose we all imagine we know what it feels like to burn, 
the first time i read that story i simply flipped to the next page,
if i wanted to hear of another pretend man who fell to hubris
& lay prostrate at our feet i would have turned on the tv.
nobody views the tale of icarus as a warning anymore,
he is our hero now, in all of his melted-wax glory,
our beautiful brave boy.
we are encouraged to fly close to the sun 
they tell us that at least when our wings leave red hot rash burns on our skin,
we will finally be beautiful,
finally be someone who they would consider fishing out of the ocean.
Burn. 
be a matchstick for our nights. 
there is a princess you left behind in the maze, icarus, 
there is a girl who you fed to the ocean long before you fell yourself,
there is always a dozen broken bodies behind any man (boy) courageous (arrogant) 
enough to break their bodies against the blaze.
the first time i read the story of icarus i imagined 
daedalus’ eyes when he watched his 
Beautiful 
Brilliant
Burning
Boy 
Fall. 
this brave new world is much crueler than he remembered. 
the women whisper when he throws himself at the altar, 
asking why. always why. 
girls are taught young that no god will protect them,
to yell fire instead of violation,
it is better to be burning than to be no one at all. 
the first time i read the tale of icarus,
i wondered why he had the confidence to throw himself at the sun, to risk going up in flames like a dry forest,
i have always been burning. 
they will always mourn him 
i will always envy him for being lucky enough to douse the flames.
i watch these boys pretending to be men on the television screen,
and are they not icarus?