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 I am slightly disconnected, partially detached, and withdrawn from the cracks I wish not to see.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.
She dances like a ballerina in a snow globe dandelions are adding lyrics to the sound of Mozart the splashes of watercolors were hanging above her elegance She glides for forgiveness and sways for sobriety the tinsel around her fury spirit is no longer sparkling She is twirling and spinning for a numb audience the atmosphere is toxic the ambiance in the snow globe is desolate At the end of the ballet only one rose thrown in front of her feet God threw it with all her might Her tears fell to the floor like a tidal wave She only needed to dance for herself
For the love of tears, bloom wipe away the melancholy from your sun seek purity and treasure your crevices decorate your scars with silver chimes feel the awakening in your tarnished spirit
Blossom from your strengths and weaknesses
For the love of tears, bloom entwine your blemishes and tenacity scratch your tenderness with your nails fall in love with your endearing sympathy recognize the sparkling ornaments within
Blossom from your strengths and weaknesses
For the love of tears, bloom interweave your warmth and quiet blisters step into your discolored anguish dance with your watercolored flaws croon your lyrics of sorrow and forgiveness
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
Indecisions hide like bats in the echoes of the cave Uncertainty sips from the acidic river Vinegar seeping between the crushed bones and sharp nerves Isolation and desolation are thumbs ripped from each hand And the rattle lingers in the corner of the ear drum
Dismay is tucked away behind a faded curtain Flaws stick to me like starving fleas Substance is the saliva dripping from the piranha’s teeth The equilibrium inside me wakes up the storm And the rattle parades in a rhythm that disturbs the haze
Symptoms of a nontransparent disease spread Inside the soliloquy the cage embraces the thunder Murmurs and grumbles tremble with fright Theology and myths walking in unison And the rattle pounds like a headache
Butchered insults and splinters drive three inches through my anger Crude laughs and vicious skies open up pouring sadness Exasperation drags my eyelids through the dirt Sorrow is a creek that I cleanse the silence And the rattle pierces my aching skin
And I lay here with the rattle in the cage soothing the emptiness
That’s the way the addiction grumbles That’s the way the drunk stumbles That’s the way the moon serenades That’s the way the elephants walk in the parade That’s the way the politicians talk That’s the way the predators gawk
That’s the way the innocent dream That’s the way the raped scream That’s the way the fears surrender That’s the way the cold remembers That’s the way the lost are found That’s the way the veterans weep to the sounds
That’s the way the truth should be told That’s the way the lies are bitten and sold That’s the way the victim cries That’s the way the quiet feel inside That’s the way the impregnator stares That’s the way the son of a bitch cares
That’s the way the glass is poured That’s the way the children are ignored That’s the way the perception is skewed That’s the way the label is crude That’s the way the society thinks That’s the way the one percent drink
That’s the way the air becomes stale That’s the way the skin becomes pale That’s the way the poets write That’s the way the day turns into night That’s the way the heart breaks into bits That’s the way the last puzzle piece fits
That’s the way the thunder growls That’s the way the thieves prowl That’s the way the light disappear That’s the way the dark becomes crystal clear That’s the way the luck falls That’s the way the anger crawls
That’s the way the perpetrators finger points That’s the way the hippies smoke a joint That’s the way the teacher dresses That’s the way the students make messes That’s the way the winners gloat That’s the way the captain steers the boats
That’s the way the rich treat the poor That’s the way the small companies closes its doors That’s the way the snake rattles That’s the way the beast fights in battle That’s the way the cookie crumbles That’s the way the insider fumbles
That’s the way the performers act That’s the way the sky becomes black That’s the way the song is heard That’s the way the villains see the words That’s the way the view turns into stone That’s the way the virtuous become alone
That’s the way the branch breaks That’s the way the dealers make mistakes That’s the way the world divides That’s the way the humans collide That’s the way the people see That’s the way the universe will be
Dandelion skin, your consequences hang from your eyelashes your backbone has an invisible crack your tenacity wallows in the closet your cheeks are filled with solitude your apprehension feels like a heart beat
Grace from within witness’s a glimpse
“I can’t hear what you are saying, I’m too busy fading”
Dandelion skin, your affliction surrounds you like a cloud your sheath carries an uneven stigma your serenity is deep in your lungs your perseverance sleeps with obscurity your illusion is smeared and splattered
Grace from within is numb and worn
“I can’t run from the silence any longer, I can finally see parts of me that are stronger”
Dandelion skin, your uncertainty plays hide and seek your strain trips over your kindness your sway crumbles in your defeated fingers your delusions disappear in the fog your trance whispers in the shade
Grace from within has the answers
“In this garden, I will blossom and continue to grow, the grace from within will finally show”
Suffocating winds, drowning in a venomous and callous night gripping to a malignant affair shredding overblown letters of sensuality my esophagus is bound to split
“I’m on my knees, begging please, with forgiveness slicing my tongue, aching to breathe.”
Sounds of vanishing ripple Sounds of exhaustion sob Sounds of agony growl
Suffocating winds, immersed in worth with scabs and pockmarks consumed by a rain of affliction ripping flashbacks with endless tears my esophagus is bound to rupture
“I’m on my knees, begging please, with forgiveness piercing my eyes, aching to breathe.”
Sounds of distress shrivel Sounds of loneliness escape Sounds of tears shriek
She identified me an uncoordinated head shaking wallflower. I was dressed in awkwardness and mentally out of place. I use to strut into Jackknife Cafe with a buzz cut with my neon shirt with the jagged words “If you take a chance, I got a little something in my pants.” She glazed at me like a I was lunatic with pick up lines I bought from a used car lot. Our conversation drifted sideways, jumped into a canary yellow cab and headed into the Low Ball motel. Three sentences were muttered as my hand slid up her skirt. She chuckled at my clumsiness, thin frame, and off colored jokes.
I lit up a cigarette as she sipped on a bottle of Crown Royal. We played like snakes in the sky-high grass. Our tongues tasted like Satan’s favorite sin. I caught a glimpse of her blue eyed ink on her backside. I couldn’t whisper nothings in her ear. I crooned a satirical lullaby within the motion. I was her escape and she was my escapade. She was a luxury in my intoxicating eyes and I was her convenience from her view. She serenaded me for hours as we cracked the headboard and the sheets wore an exotic aroma.
We exchanged crude humor, fashion statements, and upside innuendos. Miraculously I shared a few confessions. I’m a contextualist, religious free, libertarian, and fond of simplicity drenched in beauty. The comfort creeped in like a stalker. She, Lisa Ann, laid her cards on the table. She’s finishing up nursing school, working at a thrift store, residing with her retired mother, and seeking a straightforward relationship. The peacefulness took a nap as we shedded our likes, dislikes, philosophies dipped in hunger, and a thirst for curiosity.
I didn’t anticipate the afternoon rendezvous. Expectations were dim and the walls in the room saw me grin from ear to ear. We parted ways as if our skin would touch again. I walked around town with a jukebox playing in my head and loved the New Jersey breeze more. Unfortunately our eyes met again on the somber sidewalk. I greeted her with joy and was reciting her name. She acted as if I didn’t exist and we never met. Instantly the warmth turned frozen. I continued to walk as the buffoon she met. I shoved my dignity in my pocket and never wanted to hear music again.
“Carnival sins, I lay in your distress and only see myself as a bomb. Carnival sins, I don’t take responsibility for my ignorance and indifference. Carnival sins, I clutch on to my weaknesses and dwell in the shadows. Carnival sins, I see the clowns but recognize I’m the jester without a smile carrying a plastic laugh. Carnival sins, I bleed poetry that you can’t comprehend and my tears fall within the metaphors. Carnival sins, I’m dying on the inside and my wretched skin is peeling. Carnival skins, I am a color you wish that never existed. Carnival sins, I plead guilty for not loving my identity. Carnival sins, I don’t sleep in your coffin but dance in your cemetery. Carnival sins, my tears are deaf and the silence is scorching. Carnival sins, don’t you feel what i feel? Carnival sins, I am the wind you can’t feel. I am the enigma that awakens your nightmares.”
Would you be my savior between the echoes and my morning screams? Would you paint the daffodils in my lucid dreams? Would you erase the smirk from my face? Would you ever remove the melancholy from my darkest place? Would you ever silence me and rip the rhymes from my tongue? Would you gather all the pieces from my heart and mold them back to one?
Will you be my joy and sorrow dripping from my eyes? Will you be my forever and never say goodbye? Will you make promises that you won’t break? Will you learn from the blisters and the comforting mistakes? Will you hold me until the midnight cracks? Will you always have your tenderness send shivers down my back? Will you be my thunder and lightning that my pupils adore? Will you be the one to beside me forevermore? Will you be my waterfall when the wind loses all control? Will you fall in love with my weaknesses and the fragrance of my soul?
Could you be the one to calm my rattled nerves? Could you be the one to hold me when our road curves? Could you be the one to have all the answers to my endless questions? Could you be the song with a sweet hidden message? Could you be the one that makes me smile and laugh in the afternoon rain? Could you be my constant when everyone decides to change? Could you be the one that sets my heart on fire? Could you be the one to fulfill all of my desires? Could you be the one that feels my heart beat? Could you be the one that makes my life complete?
I can’t recognize scattered pieces in my overwhelming puzzle I can’t recognize the fragments that I let go and the ones I grip onto “And I hear the voice in the wind deliver me a message I have less answers but I’m always full of never ending questions” I can’t recognize the fears that seize me and the ones I destroyed “And I hear the voice in the wind deliver me a song, everything that was once here is now gone” I can’t recognize the shadows that follow me and the ones I left behind I can’t recognize the wisdom in my hands and the mistakes on my shoulders “And I hear the voice in the wind tell me it’s heard me cry, But there’s something magical and wonderful inside” I can’t recognize the distinction between my emptiness and hunger I can’t recognize the difference between laughter in the rain and the tears of the storm “And I hear the voice in the wind scream don’t give up, you are amazing, extraordinary, you are full of abundant love”
Author of Observations (Complacency with Luther Ross)
I’m a crackerjack at destroying intimacy. I replace truth with flirtation to keep arms distance. No one pays attention to the color of the outline of my soul. I’m genuinely brash, but disguise my sensitivity in my cryptic verses. I unbutton my innuendos with a playful grin and unleash my sarcasm with a bite. I have been misguided and misplaced. I should reside inside an antique store on Belmont street. I’m a clown without face paint. The world is a stage and lost my manuscript the second I was born. I tend to use blackjack tactics on the universe to discover my following. I am enthralled to the broken and repelled by the fake.
I fell in love with a mystery. She scoffs at daylight and is quiet at night. I am often perplexed by her claims. I receive fragments of truth with resentment dancing in her sapphire eyes. I am an introvert by choice. I preferred to wed a loyalist who only witnesses the deepest shades of love I give. She ignores the dead spiders in my closet. The fear of dying alone is my tarantula. I am a promenading conundrum and my contradictions force me to limp. I am loved but not understood. The clarity is ignored and is stomped on. My identity is the shape of a hexagon with sides never exposed. She is loved but doesn’t use her voice.
I’m an expert at sabotaging affection with a shine. She will pay the bare minimum like a credit card with the debt being severe. I crave gospel with a melody. I want principles with curves and hooks. I want to sink my teeth into confessions with tears of liberty. I want that crack of fear to be eradicated. She clenches onto to complacency because it’s comforting. I lack the diligence and just stare into my reflection knowing the empty circle falls on my conscious. I am the author of observations and waiting for my funeral to hear a room of formalities.
I was born between a California dream and a fog in the suburbs. I’m twenty percent scarecrow and the rest of me is a lion without a roar. I carry a pen and checkerboard notebook with fear parading in my alcoholic eyes. I have acquaintances that are on parole and a heart that is a victim of aggravated assault. Cassandra my dear, I’ve seen you take money from my camouflaged wallet. You plead insanity, is that what you want to call it? I juggle darkness and anxiety in my head. I fight battles I can’t see and shout at the gargoyles that laugh from the porch.
I fell in love with an embezzler who had a phrase “I don’t steal, I borrow” embroidered on her charcoal jacket. I once kissed an acrobat who tumbled away from my scars. I found myself glaring into an empty glass. I made love to a gypsy whose compassion and character couldn’t sit still. I was fond of a painter who sketched her tears on my chest. I found myself sipping on destruction. I was drawn to a lyricist who couldn’t convey her affection without a melody. I was magnetized to a whistle stopper who refused to stare into the truth. I found myself weeping in the dark gazing at the bottle.
I sat in therapy reliving my enigmatic past. He asked me in his continuous monotone voice “What do you write?” A part of me replied. “I write nonfiction because no one is listening.” He paused and provided his licensed smile. “Can you please share your latest entry?” “I thought I slept in a bed of catastrophe but I recognize that I’m the casualty in this foreign affair. I’m visiting a lackadaisical shrink who knows the answers to his longwinded list of satirical questions. I don’t want people to act like they care and he gets paid to show concern. I just have to move and stop sitting still.”
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.
“Michaels doesn’t fail to deliver in The Raven’s Poison. From start to finish I was taking around the horn on an emotional rollercoaster and was left in awe of his words. Can’t wait to get the next book!”
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
“Braeden knows how to tap into the human emotion and the sometimes dark nature of our innate characteristics. This is a book that is sure to grab you by the throat from the very first piece until the very last. You will be gasping and grasping for more until the very end.”
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
“I haven’t read a poetry book so full of great poetry in years. Everyone should pick this collection up.”
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
“I highly recommend this well written book. His writing is full of great imagery and it draws you in leaving you mesmerized.”
Storm of Ink 