Into The Ice

If a man writes a poem, he’s a poet

I am not.

If a man sails a boat, he’s a sailor

I am not.

If he throws a fist, he’s a fighter

I am not

For I am a lover of writing sick poems

A servant sailing a boat

A woman fighting back

Against every barreling fist

Every insincere kiss

But it seems that I’ll hate

Every meaningless tryst

I may not be a cowboy

But I know how it feels to be an outcast

Facing backlash from society

Biting the hand that feeds me

Is my specialty

Im not a cowboy

A sailor

A poet

A fighter

A lover

An artist

An author

A baker

A homemaker

And you’ll never understand that

And I won’t wait for you to try

Because you never cared

And that will never change

So I won’t waste my precious life away

Praying that you’ll pivot

Back around to face me.

I fell through the ice

Not once

Not twice

But every time

Plunging into the cold

Was as close as I came to meeting your soul

I may not be a cowboy

But I knew you.

This was written by our contributing writer, Alli Scearce.

The Up & Coming Magazine