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The quiet man is a cerebral hunter. The quiet man gravitates to the intellect. He is absorbed into observing and memorizing behavior. The quiet man is a visionary. The quiet man is complex and fascinated with the dynamics of relationships. The quiet man values quality not quantity. The quiet man sees the world through others. The quiet man seeks purity. The quiet man seeks beauty in all; perhaps he sits silently in the distance. The quiet man seeks simplicity in the complex. The quiet man is methodical and artistic. The quiet man is an optimist and embraces the warmth of humans. The quiet man is not a perfectionist. The quiet man admits when he is wrong and does not judge. The quiet man believes in the phrase “I can”. The quiet man sees the value of stages: growth and the truth. The quiet man reaches for spirituality. The quiet man has high standards and is goal oriented. He believes in equality. He is captivated by harmony and the melody of humans. The quiet man is viewed as an anti-socialist by others, a volcano ready to erupt. The quiet man defies social labels. The quiet man is blind by color, but can clearly see ignorance. The quiet man does not have the answers for everything, but only has perception. The quiet man does not like drama or self-pity. The quiet man is ambitious. The quiet man is shaken by intimacy. The quiet man is disturbed by his emotions. Perhaps the quiet man is tired of how he is viewed and labeled. The quiet man is not quiet. Perhaps no one listens to the quiet man, and how could they? The quiet man’s tongue is burning. The quiet man’s perception of himself is mediocrity. When the quiet man speaks, heads turn. People ignore the quiet man. Nobody cares what the quiet man has to say. He knows how he is viewed and would like the change that perception. As much as he tries to change, the label sticks. The quiet man is invisible. What is the quiet man to do? The quiet man is speechless. The quiet man is patient. The quiet man does not want to be the center of attention, but just to be noticed for something else than being quiet. The quiet man is misunderstood. The quiet man is not superficial. Perhaps others are wearing a mask. Perhaps the quiet man is afraid of what others will say when he speaks. Perhaps the quiet man just wants to be himself and be accepted for who he is, not a label. Perhaps we are all labeled in society from the minute we are born; from each stage of life that we enter. Someone gave you a label and it stuck. The reality is that every one of us is different. We are who we are and can’t change that. We like what we like and dislike what we dislike. The minute we speak of it, we are judged not for who we are, but interests. People bond due to interest in general, not for how we approach, live, and manage our lives. Perhaps the quiet man just wants to be accepted for who he is…doesn’t anyone care what the quiet man’s perception is? Maybe if we dug beyond the surface of people, everyone is beautiful in some small way. We all have quirks hang-ups, baggage, skeletons in the closets, and that really shouldn’t matter. Does that define who we are? No.

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I can’t tell

If I’m lost

or if I’m just not found

I can’t tell

If I’m confused

or if I’m in a fog

I can’t tell

If I’m the enigma

or if I’m missing pieces

I can’t tell

If I’m scared of myself

or just want to be hidden

I can’t tell

If I’m in a movie

or my reality is dramatic

I can’t tell

if I’m an introvert

or I just enjoy being alone

I can’t tell

if I want to live

or if I’m content being alive

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I was born to feel

I was born to absorb my emotions a bit different

I want to see the world through others eyes

I was born to be a poet

I was born to be a writer

I want to be in touch with my tears

I want to know where they came from

I want to know where your scars came from

I want to understand you

I was born to be something I didn’t know existed

I was born to love you

I was born to share something that is suppose to bring us together

I was born to hold you

I was born so we could be together

I was born to love you until the end of time

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I’m a blurry train wreck
I’m the bottom of a pit
I’m the black ice in the winter
I’m the darkest rain cloud
I’m the sting from the bee
I’m a fading car crash
I’m the dust on the ground
I’m the tears in my lonely eyes
I’m a distant social disease
I’m the monster under my bed
I’m the skeleton in my closet
I’m the spider creating my own web
I’m the tarantula in the desert
I’m the demon in my soul

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I saw you between the kaleidoscopic tears and wretched veins. I kept my distance and harbored the burnt edges of my existence. I clashed with harmony and my own walls that I have personally built. I stand between your denial and my built up frustrations. I walk away to hold on to my sanity knowing my dreams will never come true. I live for you. I live for what I love not the picket fences you created. I always thought love was elastic.

****

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You don’t need stunning

lipstick to make you sexy

You don’t need layers

of make up to make you beautiful

Just be real

You don’t need curves

to make you ravishing

You don’t need to perform

sexual acts to make you desirable

Just be honest

You don’t need to hide

all of the layers that make up you

Just be simply beautiful

***

Check out my books!

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Chasing a high-pitch shout

down an empty bottle

Retracing every convoluted

and mindless discussion

that was conjured up

Deciding not to dwell or

wallow in your demise

doesn’t change that I

can feel every chard of glass

down Broken Bottle Highway

You call yourself a lost soul

but parts of you just vanish

You claim to seek the answers

to the questions you already know

Along the path of stubbornness

Broken Bottle Highway

runs parallel to your demons

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I don’t measure myself by the dollar earned

I don’t measure myself by possessions

I don’t measure myself by the scars

I don’t measure myself by what I write

I don’t measure myself by the quantity of friends

I don’t measure myself by my beliefs

I don’t measure myself by who I know

I don’t measure myself by my fears

I don’t measure myself by my philosophies

I don’t measure myself by my tears

I just don’t measure myself

I am who I am

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Overflowing drops of sadness

crash the grounds of reality

Waves of anger and frustration

soar through every vein

Camouflaging the numbness

wakens the frozen memories

Slowly losing the crack of a smile

shades of grey and black entwine

A living ghost I am, alone—

all that is left of you

I talk in my sleep when I’m wide awake

In limbo I reach out to you,

my anchor in the fog

Overflowing mourning bellows

shattering the reflection in the mirror

Staring into the depths of your selfishness

stirring the darkest hurricanes

Consuming prescriptions of self-hatred

scream at your tarnished soul

Slowly your existence forever fades

whirlwinds of chaos downpour into your loved ones

A living ghost I am, alone—

evidence of your life

I keep together with special effects

And all I want is to touch you,


my anchor in the fog

Overflowing rain of melancholy

drip into the silence of your grave

Crumbled walls are now at your feet

as clouds hang over your torn shadow

Dwelling into your perfectionism

dismantles your steel cage

Slowly your wishes become true

Your actions speak a thousand poems

than the words you spoke alive

A living ghost I am no more—

I’ll breathe for me and you

Laugh for me and you, love for me and you

But still, I want to hold you tight,


my anchor in the fog

B.M. – Non italics parts

K.A – Italic Part

Collaboration of Braeden Michaels & Kindra M. Austin

Poemsandparagraphs.wordpress.com

I enjoyed collaborating with Kindra. It was easy. Her writing is real, raw, and honest to the core. Check out her blog.

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I scratched my itch

I packed my bags

I didn’t laugh

I couldn’t say a word

They were already said

I held in the jungle

I swallowed my confusion

I didn’t see the condition

I couldn’t see the barriers

They were already built

I walked away from the illusion

I quietly closed the door

I saw a new found path

They were always there

I just ignored them

****

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Your deepest scars

don’t define who you are

Your deepest scars

walk away from the sunset

Your deepest scars

don’t stare into the light

Your deepest scars

hide behind the plum tree

Your deepest scars

don’t scream at the rage

Your deepest scars

have burnt everlasting edges

Your deepest scars

don’t speak in front of millions

Your deepest scars

never fade in the chapter

Your deepest scars

don’t disappear in the journey

Your deepest scars

shape your colorful soul

Your deepest scars

make you gorgeous

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I saw vibrating rainbows draped over a slippery moon. I saw glitter on 20 x 20 frames. I could hear the grand piano playing in the deserted mountains. I saw a glimpse of red in the clouds of rage. I saw rivers of champagne. I witnessed sorrow hiding deep into the caves. I saw the sun bellow. I saw bouquets of silence seek Cupid’s harp. I fell into the well creeping behind the parade of jesters. I saw the edges of souls bleed tears of joy. I saw emptiness screech. I felt the warmth of diamond shaped hearts. I found a bottle of spilled ink and the words were never ending. I heard trumpets around the bend. I saw blank pages but words rattled and spoke like gospel. I discovered the path of humanity. I caressed the gentleness of others. I climbed into the vortex of raw emotions. I felt the infinite words in ink overflow within myself.

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Condescending aficionado
speaks from a barbaric abyss
Staking claims and forecasts
reeking of gin and vermouth

He paws
He claws
Relentless and crude

Staring at her fishnet stalkings
waiting for her lipstick stains
delicious Coca Cola bottle curves
Inhaling her wicked scent

He probes
He pushes
Distasteful and off putting

Sucking in helium and lithium
personality rising higher than balloons
Viewing others as outcasts
engaging as a insidious vulture

He commands
He yells
Unforgiving and selfish

Demanding perverse declarations
Instilling superficial values
She crawls away from the blood hound
gazing at the sign of bittersweet crossroads

She kicks
She cries
Embracing the freedom

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Direct and forward

A rabid salivating tongue

Deafening from silence

Gripping to the slick

and grapevine of truth

Lacking minimal patience

A vicious tightrope

Brash and Harsh

Invigorating sincerity

Zero fluctuation

Pledging to the straight arrow

The outspoken prophet

residing in a palace of lights

shimmering faith reverberates

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Deteriorating eyesight

Cockeyed perception

Agitations foaming at the mouth

Removing the garbage

Calming the whispers

Torturing the roars

Sighing to the bee sting

Bleeding from the dry lips

Masking undertones

Streaming suspicions

Cutting the grapevines

Screaming murmurs

Bumbling suggestions leach

Rumors spread like a cold

Unsubstantiated truths

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To care is to have patience

To appreciate you have to lose something

To love you have to treasure seconds

To forgive you have to be human

To grow you have to make mistakes

To be kind you have to listen

To be human you have to open up your heart

To gain perspective open up your eyes

To be ignorant close your ears

To be special just be yourself

To live is not to be afraid

To be alive you have to learn to feel

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Writing with a light shade of pink

Paragraphs of wit and charm

Hallucinations of bitter love

Caught up in unknown webs

Burying summer flings and

hypnotic one night stands

Self inflicted wounds never sewn

The bookmark never leaves

this etched and engraved page

It’s the single page that altered

her perception of love and self

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As I grabbed the notebook I cried hard. Words poured out:

Dear God,

I am suppose to believe in you. You took my Dad and I’m very mad at you. I don’t understand and why won’t Nathan cry? What is wrong with him? How could you do this to my mother? Is it possible for you to provide me answers soon?

As I was writing this my mom yelled up.

“Allie is at the door.”

I threw down the pen and wiped my tears. I went downstairs to let Allie in. She said my mom called her mom to tell her the news. I could tell she didn’t know what to say.

“Are you going to school tomorrow?”

“No I’m not going but will go sometime this week. My mom said there was lots to do. I don’t know what she wants me to do.”

“Did she tell you next weekend you and Nathan are staying with us?”

“No she didn’t.”

“It will be fun.”

“Allie Do you believe in God?”

“Yeah I do.”

“Why would God take my Dad?”

Allie just stared at me for a moment.

“I don’t know. I can’t really answer that. Is your notebook full yet? You said you would write something every day.”

“It’s almost full. I wrote something today.”

“What did you write today?”

“Today I wrote a letter to God. I’m hoping he will get it soon and write back.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well at church we are told to believe in him. I don’t think he gets mail in heaven. He doesn’t wait for mail. My mom always says things happen for a reason.”

“So are you saying God took my Dad for a reason?”

“I don’t think it’s that easy to explain Ben. He didn’t take him to cut grass in heaven.”

I didn’t understand what Allie was trying to say.