Sometimes, I am Icarus,
flying high, reaching out toward the Sun,
held up by papyrus and wind,
and then,
I am Dedalus,
wondering why I even thought to fly in the first place.
Why don’t I ever write love letters to myself?
I am the one who earned it,
I am the one who is hurt
when I shut myself out.
Why don’t I ever write love letters to myself?
I can make pretty words in poetry,
but I think I am not worth saying it to me.
I am Dedalus
who made his son fly,
and I am Dedalus who caused him to die,
but where is Dedalus who can heal in time,
does he know it’s not a myth?
Wind the thread down the labyrinth
and walk through shadow and light,
until it doesn’t hurt anymore
to walk through empty spaces,
and the silence doesn’t make you want to interrupt it.
Why don’t I ever write love letters to myself?
I was Icarus, and I am Dedalus,
the laugh and the mouth the laugh leaped from,
I have created good things,
and forget the weight they had on me,
moving onto the next thing,
grieving that I am losing myself in rough drafts,
blasphemy.
Paper planes don’t know they will never land,
they only know that they are birds all the same
and they all fly,
toy boats chug to their own engine,
thanking the waves for their push,
and poetry,
is another invention,
made by inventors who wanted to show themselves
that they deserved love letters too.
*
This poem is based off a feeling I have had recently toward my burnout - their are two wolves (just kidding) - their are two sides to me, or a voice that comes with my writing - an amalgamation of everything minus the wolves - they are not equal to each other. One side believes that the work is good, but the louder of the two is refuting the worth.
It’s like I am feeling a different degree of burnout. I don’t know if its imposter syndrome or the fear that no one will read my work that is antagonizing to me -
but I know one things and it’s that I don’t write love letters to myself. I don’t see my progress, I am so focused on work work work work, I don’t see that it is working, that I am getting closer to my goal every day, and that is worth recognition.
This piece is for those who don’t know where they are going, losing themselves in doubt, or just burn out, you are growing and it takes time, and that process or progress needs to be documented too. Not the wins, not the failures, but the sweet in-between, when you are wandering the labyrinth in quiet, because you are starting to understand which route to take.
Thank you for your time.