Between shadows and memory, one woman’s diary elucidates relationships come and gone, those who helped shape who she is from the inside out. Turning the rain into something beautiful, the opening petals of a rose now blooming.
Veteran poet Braeden Michaels crafts his seventh collection of poetry into a mold of vision. Like pages from a twisted fairy tale, he narrates using his unique poetic style and perspective, first dissecting emotion before reconstructing and reimagining each one.
I drown in my cravings, flames from your lips, and the desires from your tongue. I glare at my weaknesses with swollen tears. I hunger something that my emptiness won’t ever touch. I grip on to my fascinations and urges with insomniac eyes. I carry my loneliness on my sleeve and unapologetically unashamed for wanting your luscious skin.
The circle of my friendships get smaller, I make my myself distant the closer I get. I promise you, you will wish we never met. The hello’s will turn into goodbyes, I will make sure you can’t see the rain from my eyes. I will share more truths and you will want to run. Don’t be surprised of the person I will become.
I sink in my yearnings, scattered fantasies and the desolation inside. I dwell in my painted circles, faded memories and the opaque skies that leave me stranded in the bitterness. I am slightly disconnected, partially detached, and withdrawn from the cracks I wish not to see. I displace the stained hindrances and sanguine complaints within my state of consciousness. I am unapologetically unashamed for longing for your sentimental touch.
The circle of my friendships get smaller, I tend to make others uncomfortable with the things I shouldn’t say. I promise you, I will belong in your past and know you won’t stay. I expect no response and the late replies. I will make sure you won’t see the pain in my fragile eyes. I will be more open and will tell you how I feel. In the end, we will find out who was real.
Tease me with a scent of a captivating concoction Tease me with a crescendo of exhilarating moans breathe in the closeness, breathe out the chill
Tease me with sweetness dripping from your wounds Tease me with a heartfelt dance under our silver moon breathe in the hello’s, breathe out the spasm
Tease me with laughter from your winter storm Tease me with soft kisses falling on your pillow breathe in the sentiments, breathe out the fears
Tease me with a passage from your bone cold diary Tease me with a sizzling greeting under an oak tree breathe in the beginning, breathe out the endings
Tease me with a dream of memories and cozy rain Tease me with a clenching oblivion and devotion breathe in the naked sighs, breathe out the fragility
11:32am, situated on the corner of James Madison Boulevard and Whitman Street. I am sipping emptiness on the rocks in the scowling part of town, Jackknife Tavern. I’m sulking in the chestnut colored booth throwing darts at the bombastic God I use to love. I continue to taste the kisses of my skeptical past and shake hands with the skeleton of my future. I raise my clenched fist, “Hey brother, can you pour me another? If it’s not any trouble, make it a double.”
A Marylin Chambers look a like tapped me on the shoulders with an indecent proposal. I shook my head with a chuckle and a sleazy grin. “This isn’t a joke, I can only pay by the minutes or the number of strokes.” She disappeared like a magician with the smell of her perfume turning into an aphrodisiac. I swallow loneliness like an amber ale. Isolation is my best friend without a voice. I tend to make a midnight rendezvous with yours truly but my left hand shouts “I’m quite over zealous” and the right hand whimpers “I’m quite jealous.” I only tend to acquire sparks with jumper cables.
Between noontide and the teardrops of the moon, the carnival weaved in and out of the cavern. The hooligans are tap dancing next to the jukebox, the husbands are window shopping, the cut throat whistle stoppers are juggling negotiations and plastic speeches. The jamboree was full of exaggeration, plagiarism, copycats, and satan’s storytellers. I could hear them drinking the tears more than the alcohol.
2:35pm, the regulars and bystanders strolled in with folktales dripping grief. Cigarette smoke reeked of melancholy and satire. The ambiance was filled with extravagant bar tabs, sobbing cliffhangers, romantic comedies with the mourning saxophone playing in your left ear. If you listen close, the excuses and irritation can be heard in your right ear. A pint of desolation will taste sweet and a shot of despair will run down your throat faster than a horse at the Kentucky derby. It’s a relief and a head scratcher that we call it happy hour.
5:45pm, the eyes are dry and my stomach grumbled. The gin mill is as empty as my crooning soul. I can never make out the lyrics but I get goosebumps when I hear the sorrowful piano. Harper Guthrie struts in with his graveyard black t-shirt with the phrase “You can get this body for $19.95 for one hour, but if you act now I will make you as happy as a sunflower” printed on the front. Harper is jammed with acidic antidotes but will sell you antidepressants, antibiotics, and antisemitism.He talks with his wandering hands and pleads innocent until proven guilty. He will boast about his latest purchases, meaningless job title, and the abundant cash flow problem. He serenades to the audience that he drinks to happiness. Unfortunately, he’s been charged with terrible humor and convicted of lying to himself.
7:15pm, Jackson Bryant fumbles in with his auburn acoustic guitar. He glances at the minimal crowd from the undersized stage and begins to strum. Out comes a raspy but yet a smooth sound “You can find me in the dark trying to grip the wind, you can find me feeling lost not knowing where to begin, you can shout from the depths of your lungs, you can point your fingers at me and forget the person you’ve become.” Heads turn and faces become pale as if they seen a reflection of themselves. The song ends with the spectators clapping their hands rapidly and shouting out his name. He continued to play his set as the crowd was quite allured by his presence.
As the night begin to fade, the exchange had less of a bounce. Solitude was a fog prancing in front of our bloodshot pupils. I wrote “Goodbye, Goodnight” on a vanilla napkin and handed it to the gargoyle next to me. It was time for me to face the chorus in a song I didn’t want to play. Thirty five years ago on this melodic day, I married a ballerina that is still spinning on her tip toes of my crippled heart. The King of kings took my queen away. She was plagued with a disease that had no cure. I’m done praying to a God that doesn’t listen. All I know how to do is to fill up my glass with destitution to try to take away the overwhelming misery.
Greetings taxpayers, screen wanderers, and head nodding citizens, let’s dive into the ramifications of ignoring the siren of western civilization, where the infrastructure has had a crack for generations, the colors of the flag have become evanescent, where celebrities are glorified more than soldiers, where the all mighty dollar has more value than life,
Let me introduce myself, I am the Headstone Prophet, the accountant of distractions and destruction, I don’t see black and white, gender, classes, or status, I see authority and figureheads with meaningless titles serve themselves rather than society, I see inflation and corruption welded together to spark the genocide, I am the soothsayer that is gawking at the cemeteries, counting the caskets, I wear a tattoo on my middle finger that reads “The new world order doesn’t deserve a quarter,”
Behind closed doors, the henchmen are sipping on wealth mumbling “if you aren’t rich, you will become my bitch” and the others are ranting “if you aren’t in the grave, you will be my slave,” the catchphrases are lightning and the thunder to their ears, the powers that be want division among the dwellers, they crave disunity and friction, for every label there is a asterisk and a war,
It’s time to pay close attention to these staggering numbers, human trafficking is up twenty percent, the dishonesty among politicians is up a thousand percent, the media will twist the truth fifty percent, the longer you are glued to a screen the quicker you will forget the american dream, in the end the government cares about you is zero percent,
I am the headstone prophet, I stand before you to be the alarm, I stand here to wake up for those who are asleep, I stand here to deliver the most important message of your life, I stand here to hopefully avoid counting your coffin,
(1st Verse) I was born with symptoms of a transparent disease midday convulsions, cynical eyes, buckling at the knees I am stuck with satirical and catatonic eyes, I carry a tapestry of black and scarlet goodbyes, I hear my ghosts playing in a symphony singing my riddles I reside in the flames of the sunset with my anguish crying in the middle
CHORUS: I am the color gray gripping on to my rage I have a sister that screams that seems to never age I have a brother that reads my eulogy from a blank page I am infatuated with the rattle in a cage
(2nd Verse) I was born with my lungs full of wide eyed devastation morning sickness, sarcastic limbs, with my eyesight feeling irritation I am a bottle of endless and crude pills I can feel saliva dripping down my disorder seeking a thrill I can hear my villains playing the violins as I lay out my confessions I reside in the orchestra of my darkness clenching on to my obsessions
CHORUS: I am the color gray gripping on to my rage I have a sister that screams that seems to never age I have a brother that reads my eulogy from a blank page I am infatuated with the rattle in a cage
Bridge: Recklessness is my illness and medicine God laughs at my horrific skeleton I hold hands with Satan’s storytellers I sleep under a rose sky beside the bottom dwellers
CHORUS: I am the color gray gripping on to my rage I have a sister that screams that seems to never age I have a brother that reads my eulogy from a blank page I am infatuated with the rattle in a cage
CHORUS: I am the color gray gripping on to my rage I have a sister that screams that seems to never age I have a brother that reads my eulogy from a blank page I am infatuated with the rattle in a cage
(1st Verse) I am terrified of the darkness sitting still I am terrified of my identity getting killed I am terrified of the loneliness and isolation I am terrified of the water down hallucinations
CHORUS: All I have are hollow tears that fell from the cracked moon All I have is a heart that has been broken too soon All I have are years that feel wasted and gone All I have are tragic lyrics to a hopeless song
(2nd Verse) I am terrified of the light being gone forever I am terrified of the pieces I can’t put back together I am terrified of the blistering walls caving in I am terrified of not knowing where to begin
CHORUS: All I have are hollow tears that fell from the cracked moon All I have is a heart that has been broken too soon All I have are years that feel wasted and gone All I have are tragic lyrics to a hopeless song
Bridge: With these hollow tears, I traced the outline of my pain With these hollow tears, I am drowning in this pouring rain With these hollow tears, my eyes don’t see a glimpse of change
CHORUS: All I have are hollow tears that fell from the cracked moon All I have is a heart that has been broken too soon All I have are years that feel wasted and gone All I have are tragic lyrics to a hopeless song
(1st Verse) Once upon a midnight breeze I inhaled mourning and choked on my tragedies and I begin to stare into the raven’s lungs I began to speak with animosity on my tongue and I begin to allow the poison seep in my skin I am the one who carries truth laced in sin
CHORUS: I woke up to the sound of the blackout’s rattle crawling between insomnia and my battles my ears are bleeding from my punctured eardrum crawling between my stolen lies and the bullets of my gun
(2nd Verse) I exhaled bitterness and coughed up illusions and I begin to dance with my spots of my confusion I began to shout with sorrow dripping from my lips and I begin to allow the ignorance give me a lethal kiss I began to shed the light and my heart turned to stone I am the one who walks with fear and brittle bones
CHORUS: I woke up to the sound of the blackout’s rattle crawling between insomnia and my battles my ears are bleeding from my punctured eardrum crawling between my stolen lies and the bullets of my gun
Bridge: Once upon a thousand lies truth disappears as followers wave goodbye The paint on the face begins to dry as everything alive begins to die
CHORUS: I woke up to the sound of the blackout’s rattle crawling between insomnia and my battles my ears are bleeding from my punctured eardrum crawling between my stolen lies and the bullets of my gun
CHORUS: I woke up to the sound of the blackout’s rattle crawling between insomnia and my battles my ears are bleeding from my punctured eardrum crawling between my stolen lies and the bullets of my gun
Don’t pull the trigger, get on your knees Look up to God and believe
I’ve been in love with the nectar and the sour drippings of you I’ve been captured by the glaze of your caress I’ve been in awe by the comfort and the shivers of your embrace I’ve been enamored by the never ending kisses and the affection I’ve been mesmerized by the sparkle dancing in your midnight eyes
And the love with you is breathtaking And the love with you is indescribable And the love with you is remarkable And the love with you has opened me up
After so many years I wouldn’t have changed a second
I’ve been in love with the honey and the radiant treasures of you I’ve been enchanted by your words and glamorous skin I’ve been aching for the centerpiece to wake me up and feel alive I’ve been daydreaming of an endless love I’ve been intoxicated by the shimmering light twinkling in your soul
And the love with you is breathtaking And the love with you is indescribable And the love with you is remarkable And the love with you has opened me up
After so many years I wouldn’t have changed a minute
I lay here in unloved skin with a ghost surrounding my unwritten pages I lay here in a whirlwind aching for you to fulfill my desolation with worn out tears I lay here with shadows crying and spelling your name with my fingertips I lay here in a cloud of passion missing your serenity wrapped around with my flames
Cover me in a blistering love Cover me in tender confetti Cover me in a bold yearning
“Come a little closer and don’t be afraid to feel, let’s get lost with what we know is real, Come a little closer and give me your recklessness, Come a little closer and fulfill my emptiness”
I lay here in unloved skin with an unhinged appetite boiling within I lay here in a frenzy circling for you to entertain myflammable wishes I lay here with fantasies exploding in luscious air I lay here in obscurity of devotion sweltering on the inside
Cover me in a sky of hope Cover me in tears of respect Cover me in a weeping bliss
“Come a little closer and breathe in our scent, come a little closer and feel where our dreams went, come a little closer give me what I long for, come a little closer and see you are all that I adore”
you could be the lyric that I never wrote you could be the nectar fawning on my tongue you could be the feather against my cheek you could be the warmth on my lost face you could be the song that repeats in my mind
And in the morning chill, I can taste the harmony off your skin And in the brisk moonlight, I can hear your symphony burn from your lips
you could be the melody that awakens me you could be the lily I see in my holy dreams you could be the breeze I never forget you could be the fear that I have forgotten you could be the song that repeats in my mind
And in the morning chill, I can feel your poetry in the chorus of my weary soul And in the brisk moonlight, I can recognize your violins in the orchestra
you could be the instrument that sparkles you could be the goodbye that is never uttered you could be the unspoken and endless limerick you could be the sorrow that turns into halcyon you could be the song that repeats in my mind
And in the morning chill, I can watch you play the acoustic guitar whispering your poetry And in the brisk moonlight, I can see pieces of myself you savor in your tragic song
Corruption struts but talks with a poisonous tongue Corruption is an invisible cramp but will shatter your spine And silence turns into a destructive hurricane Corruption bleeds black and white but spreads out in a grey sky Corruption is a bomb with whispers fading in a turbulent fog And as long as your catatonic eyes are mesmerized by the screen life is shipshape Corruption is dressed in thousand dollar slacks, cheap mini skirts, and does not discriminate Corruption is Satan’s heartbeat and greed’s best friend And as long as you are pointing fingers you are living the American dream Corruption never sleeps and is awaken with a pitch black grin Corruption is an irrational and invincible shadow And every industry will rape you without consent Corruption is a page filled with half truths, run on sentences, and punctuation that makes your stomach turn Corruption is a speech written by amateur burning with hallucinations And every celebrity you idolize is part of the scheme Corruption is a weapon to activate division, war, and lethal spending Corruption is a slippery secret among the powerful and elite And you won’t find the truth between the taxes and lies Corruption is a handshake between the enemy and beaucracy And you will learn to accept it because every soul has a price tag
To me, music and poetry go hand in hand. I have a playlist that I consistently update weekly. I really enjoy finding musicians or artists that are hidden gems. I tend to add music that is gut wrenching, heartfelt, and voices that stir the soul. I will play the song multiple times to embrace the music and lyrics separately before adding to ensure it fits the playlist. I call this playlist “Breathe in, Breathe Out.”
This playlist is cleansing and makes me think of so many things. This kind of music makes me reflect, reminisce, cry at times, and inspires my writing. I call this playlist “Breathe in, Breathe Out” because it brings clarity to the essence of life when I hear it. The music just makes me think about what is important and what isn’t.
My son consistently listens to it as well and it’s priceless to hear him singing the words to any song. I love hearing him sing. He sings so passionately and with joy. It’s a blessing to watch how music impacts him.
Thy soul shall find itself alone ‘Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone — Not one, of all the crowd, to pry Into thine hour of secrecy: Be silent in that solitude Which is not loneliness — for then The spirits of the dead who stood In life before thee are again In death around thee — and their will Shall then overshadow thee: be still.
For the night — tho’ clear — shall frown — And the stars shall look not down, From their high thrones in the Heaven, With light like Hope to mortals given — But their red orbs, without beam, To thy weariness shall seem As a burning and a fever Which would cling to thee for ever :
Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish — Now are visions ne’er to vanish — From thy spirit shall they pass No more — like dew-drop from the grass:
The breeze — the breath of God — is still — And the mist upon the hill Shadowy — shadowy — yet unbroken, Is a symbol and a token — How it hangs upon the trees, A mystery of mysteries! —
Growth is powerful. Often times you can’t see how much you have grown until you look back at who you were or what you have decided to let go. I have been writing for decades and have kept it a secret. Why? The reasons why I write are endless. It’s therapeutic, mentally stimulating, challenging, a place where I can voice my opinions, and today I believe others can find others or themselves in my poetry. It can be a place of self discovery and reflection.
Generally speaking, the perspective of a poet by society is someone who is broken, emotionally sensitive, and their voice is better articulated through words on paper than being spoken. To clarify this, written words are better used to express themselves emotionally. I can relate to this part. I am an emotional person and often times I cry because I have no words at times. Today I write with more of bigger purpose. I want to show the world that you people are not broken, they are just misunderstood. They are not surrounded by the right people.
At the end of my first marriage, I took it upon myself to attend therapy. I knew there were some things about me I needed to fix. I am a work in progress, in fact we all are a work in progress and under construction. Two of the things in my marriage that I needed to work on was speaking up for myself and taking control of certain aspects of my life. I was married to a woman who was overbearing, domineering and controlling. She was also an alcoholic. On my end, I wasn’t mature enough to walk away and sought out attention in the wrong way ways. I hid my writing at this time. Therapy gave me guidance and direction.
One of the things that I learned in therapy is that my growth was limited due to my surroundings. My father is quite judgmental and critical. Once I remarried and moved away, my confidence in myself flourished. I saw that I needed to move away. I will never tell my father that because I know that would hurt his feelings. I appreciate all that he is given me and the love that he knows how to give. He doesn’t just seem to care how to present sensitive topics, and how you present them often times is more important than what you say. As I get older, I’m trying to be aware of how I present subjects as well. There is a time to be straight forward, direct and there is a time to communicate with compassion.
In the end, I have grown to try to see the world and life through others eyes. I am not dead set on being right and if I am wrong, I will own up to it. I write poetry from the clouds with eagle eyes and try to embrace humanity. I see humanity without labels. There is a long list of individuals who want the world to change and I stand in a small line where I want to change the world. Everything is perspective and perspective is everything.
I pause to deliver my twenty two bold face lies with a smirk. I pause to hand over my ten percent truth. I pause to reveal my entire identity. I pause with doubt and confidence dancing hand in hand. I pause with disgust and trepidation swelling. I pause with deceit and manipulation twitching in my indistinct eyes.
I am a certified playboy with a bronze grin. I am a storyteller with an agenda as long as a manuscript. I am the best seller with sparkled charm. I have a gift of being selfish without you knowing. I am smooth as silk and hide behind my misery.
I pause with friction and distortion entwined within the gospel. I pause with morals placed in my back pockets. I pause with principles and precision hidden in the crevices. I pause with certainty and authenticity running parallel with my darkness. I pause with the picture torn and shredded.
I have a lethal license in zigzagging and swiveling. I shelter my obscure secrets. I have stashed away my troubles, difficulties and mistakes. I suppress my clouds and fog. I tucked away my accidents and splotchy incidents. I locked up my realness and credibility due to the storm of fears. The pleasure maker in me is drenched from loneliness is too afraid to remove the mask.
I was born with a second hand smile from the sunset. I walk with a tiny wheel in my pocket that won’t roll and converse with a novocaine tongue. I have a brother that uses me as a punchline in off color jokes and a sister with suspicion waltzing in her eyes. I have a mother who was buried at the Brookside cemetery under a choked up moon. I count my blessings rather than my drops of misery. Every now and then she looks at me says “It’s been a while since I’ve seen your second hand smile.”
I’ve tried to turn off the waterfall and dive into the river of flames. I’ve tired to stare into my silent villains and face my inward wars. I’ve tried to run from the screams but I am still in this seared skin. It feels like I’m never going to win.
I was born with a tattoo of a tear on my left cheek. I fumble through the streets with my blood not moving a centimeter. I have a snapshot of my apprehension and a voice that no know wants to hear. I have a mother that appreciated the words I tucked away from the heartless universe. Every now and then she looks at me says “It’s been a while since I’ve seen your second hand smile.”
I’ve tried to shrug off the heartache and walk away from senseless battles. I’ve tried to keep my swollen chin up and to listen to the fireflies in the pitch black. I can keep running in this burnt skin. It feels like I’m never going to win.
I was born with doubt flickering like a light on the inside. I stumble throughout the darkness gripping on to the glow. I have fluttering secrets and camouflaged my excuses to try to erase away the damage. I have a mother who wore a grin throughout her scowling hours. She defied being defeated nor broken down. Every now and then she looks at me says “It’s been a while since I’ve seen your second hand smile.”
I’ve tried to lose my biographical sighs and replace my intuition with logic. I’ve tried to step into my perspective and turn my head to see another view. But all I can feel is you. I have no where to begin. I’ve learned to accept that I just won’t win.
I photographed the cruelty spoken from your lips I no longer needed your warmth I photographed the lies that reverberated in your façade I no longer needed your touch I photographed the memories that had cracks with less meaning I no longer needed your approval I begin to dream wide and fell in love with the colors of my passions I photographed the emptiness and your signature dipped in carelessness I no longer needed your comfort I photographed the deceit and the war in your stubborn eyes I no longer needed your backbone I photographed the distance you created from the lack of affection I no longer needed your devotion I begin to see my strengths and embraced my weaknesses And you faded into the tears of the wind
I found the most reckless line in your diary. “I know you can’t remember, all I can feel are the tears of September.” l was mesmerized by the details of the most piercing moments until I realized I was the subject. I was perplexed and the inner light began to fade. I found a line that shredded my heart into pieces.”You are the avalanche I could not see, you won’t be awake when I leave.” I glanced through the suffering and the realization is settling that you see me as a self absorbed monster.
You drank lukewarm coffee with a ballad crying in your head, rearranging the lyrics, forgetting all the things I said. You replaced conversation with an awkward silence and grand expectations. Perhaps you and I sat on quicksand, never making a solid foundation. You wanted me to crawl inside your mind, sit indian style, and look for your missing smile. You never mentioned, you craved endless attention and you didn’t get what you deserved. If I didn’t love you, can you tell me why I’m so hurt.
I found your latest entry in your book of fiction. “I know you forgot about my horrendous childhood, feeling lost and misunderstood.” I was fascinated with your chilling imagination with minutia painted with your fingertips. I was bewildered and the answers began to become in focus. I found a line that cracked the outer shell of my soul. “You are the villain in this horrific tale, because of you I have failed.” I am done tasting this bitter and water down concoction.
You drank lukewarm coffee with complaints, criticism, and tirades surrounding your silent skeleton. You are the playwright, weeping dramatist, and the author of colorful exaggerations. You are the puzzle, desiring me to put you together, believing in the everlasting, wishing for forever. You are numb from the waist down, with your feet barely touching the ground. You blame me for that earth shattering tragedy. I will love you until the end of time despite the fact you are no longer in love with me.
Storm of Ink 