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Northwind Voice

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”

My books are available on Amazon.

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I am a connoisseur of analogies and a lost paragraph. The expectations are nonexistent and the inconsistencies are bloodletting. I’ve washed my hands in rain and rinse them in agony. I hate to stare in my complexion of mediocrity. I walk around with a fistful of aspirations and cough up restlessness. She keeps the awakening truth inside her shell. She ignores the knock on the door of confrontation.My knuckles are shaking. I spell out my fantasies in luscious ink as she pretends to read them.

I am the cerebral nighthawk that dances in the moonlight and dreams like a joker. I follow the road without a sign, just the sound of dragonflies, and the heartbreaking temptations.She’s made claims that I have acquaintances and sidekicks. She’s joined in holy matrimony with a introverted cynic who’s dying on the inside as the second hand moves. She holds in her frustrations and the fears stuck to her palms. I play with riddles and hide between the ten feet conundrums. I play with her subconscious and the ghosts that appear in her sleep. The end is just the beginning and the beginning is just a part of the end.

My books are available here.

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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.”

My books are available on Amazon.

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Coming Soon!

✨Release Date: 3/5/2024

Once Upon A Rain, She Bloomed

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.

Pre order: Once Upon A Rain, She Bloomed

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Bottle of shadows

Leave me a pile of scrutiny
Leave me a bag of aggravation
and I will toss it in the dying closet

Leave me a tiny bit of solitude
Leave me an ounce of spoiled milk
and I will throw it in the empty pantry

Leave me a gallon of spiked juice
Leave me a shred of laughter
and I will painfully swallow the bits

Leave me a bottle of shadows
Leave me a jug of sarcasm
and I will watch myself drown

Leave me a tank of affection
Leave me a plate of dirty lies
and I will break another mirror

Leave me a pair of worn out glasses
Leave me a little bit of rust
and I will never see my heart ache

My books are available here.

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Once upon a blistering silhouette
I wiped away my tears with feathers from
the bitterness, I slept with misery and
the faults I refused to see, the sun
disappeared and my heart is vacant,
the veil is ragged and torn, the anguish
is dispersed and I wallow in the fields
of exhaustion, guided by thorns and
a cloud of animosity without a compass,
I use to embrace the darkness, I bellow
from the exotic tremors, hoping to discover
the light I have forgotten, I have gripping
dreams and an isolated peace I misplaced

My books are available here .

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Coming Soon!

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.

My books are available here.

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excerpt from “The Raven’s Poison”

Even the devil himself chuckles
The moon is carved with your lies
Tangled up in your demented mind
Serenaded by demonic gargoyles
Stains of convoluted fairytales twitch
Nightmares glide through your skull
as you become the twisted spin doctor
Even the devil himself despises you
The haunted tree is covered in your sins
Using the phrase “sick and dying” to draw attention
The line for the roller coaster to hell
banishes the disturbed and psychopathic rants
Even the devil himself cringes at your name
Fearing your chameleon sadistic skin
Wallowing in your fragile bones
Be careful what you curve with your tongue

My books are available here.

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Never Ending Ink on Crooked Scream Road

Like porcelain skin wrapped in gauze
Birthday tattoo displayed on her wrist
Daydreams slip out on from her weeping lips
Shadows blister, the monologue drowns
Clasping on to “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings” in her pliable hand

And the lions on the wallpaper say her name in a chant
And the ceiling is her midnight and decorated
sky
And the hallway reeks of discretion and tongue tied riddles
And the ink she pours out never runs dry

Give me an invincible fire to stand within the pain
Give me the light to crawl in the dusk

An ounce of slump and stagnation whisper
Melancholy hanging over her head like a rain cloud
Glaring into a closet of aberrations
Atmosphere trembles, the letters trickle sanguine
Twitching in the discolored oblivion

And the memories flood on to the pillow from her eyes
And the moonlight that shines through her window growls
And the conversations are still heard in these four walls
And the ink she pours out never runs dry

Give me an invincible fire to stand within the pain
Give me the light to crawl in the dusk

My books are available here.

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She slumbers in jitters and uncertainty

She slumbers in quietness and nervousness

She slumbers in angst and needles

She slumbers in frozen butterflies

She slumbers in a catatonic atmosphere

And the all knowing and powerful listens

She slumbers in misguided beliefs

She slumbers in thin confidence

She slumbers in pale rose petals

She slumbers in the down pouring dismay

She slumbers in cold feet and horror

And the all knowing and powerful listens

She slumbers in cynical exasperation

She slumbers in headaches and irritations

She slumbers in deadweight

She slumbers in mishaps and misfortune

She slumbers in blame and agitation

And the all knowing and powerful guides

Check out my books!

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from upcoming book

The Prologue

I’m just a silhouette situated on a cracked street corner gazing into the crevices of the cement. I’m a wanderer seeking warmth from a gentle hand. I spend too much time looking inward and only see engraved scars. I’m just a singed shadow that leaves whispers and tears for an empty sky. I find myself buried in my beloved diary. I cling to it as I cry myself to sleep as I pray to a God that is made up of sandpaper beliefs and songlike scripture.

I tend to sleep with trauma with invisible gauze and bloodshot dreams. I rationalize the hallucinations due to the measurable weight on my shoulders. I live in a household filled with indifference, butterflies circling fears, and ghosts having sarcastic conversations with each other. I carry a laugh from an ancient carnival. My mother named me after two distinguished poets. The name Sylvia Poe Chandler feels supernatural on the birth certificate. My personality is upside down and is unseeable. I scoff at normalities and jokes about what can not be changed. I loathe logic defended by agendas that are written by parasites. I am drawn to the stars have a tint of green because the moon is jealous. I am fond of the night because I can see my skeletons sipping on ignorance in the closet.

I never once believed in the elegance and fragility of love. I believe in monsters, dark side of humanity, warlords, and anguish that swallows you whole. I don’t believe in the hands of compassion nor forgiveness. I can’t believe in concepts I’ve never felt. I never once believed in angels, optimism with a silver lining, and words spoken by the rich. I believe in individuality not the mummy walking mass. I never believed in rhetoric from men wearing blue suits. I do believe someone below is smirking at my trials and tribulations. I can’t believe in fairy tales but I believe in an epilogue with a waterfall.

She calls me an infant and he calls me ungraspable. I’m a mute but the list of endless adjectives are added to the scroll. I am seeking love and affection from heathens wearing sin like a trench coat. I’m full of spite but spit out caffeinated speeches. I walk with a phantom knowing I’m contaminated. Self worth is buried in the forest of my backyard. As I walk through the woodlands I can feel the mosquitoes surrounding my significance. The closer I become my eyes swell with grief.

I am a cloud hiding behind the sun seeking a ray of hope. I have a backbone that you can’t see. I am a star gazer with drops of melancholy in my hands. I have been destroyed by my foul mouthed pro creators and poisonous ex lovers. My fate is torn but my destiny sees a rainbow from a distance.

My books are available here.

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Bitter Honey

Bitter honey, the aftertaste is drowning
the affection once pure turns into ink
Disjointed and spots of spite stick to
my worn-down tongue, I dwell inside

I lost my existence but found my shadow
I lost my fears but found my perspective
I lost my pride but found my character

Even in the despair, the calm was burning

Bitter honey, the aftermath is devastating
the devotion once concrete crumbles
Frail and specks of turmoil rushes down
my frightened throat, I wallow inside

I lost my independence but found my direction
I lost my truth but discovered the lies
I lost my innocence but gained my wisdom

Even in the melancholy, the silence was light

Bitter honey, the afterthoughts are distant
the tenderness once snug is crippled
Cracked and traces of sorrow drip from my
serenading eyelashes, I cringe inside

I lost my thirst but found my hunger
I lost my laughter but found the jester within
I lost my ghosts but found my guardian

Even in the dashed hope, the fall was awakening

My books are available here.

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Ceramic Villains

stomach acid
gorges the frame of the picture
ceramic villains
stand in the center of the image
credit card smiles
seek the light of the troubled road
wallets become empty
as they cling to the objects of the room

Love was just a word to deceive

camouflaged tears
reckon within the twitching of souls
charades is not
just a game
but the poison
they drank daily
They laid drunk
in the center of the bed
photographing plastic memories

Love was just a word that they wanted to believe

My books are available here.

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The dark side is gravitating
Scrambled thoughts of my reality
Playing with the toys in my closet
A world you could care less
Claiming to know me completely
You know what you want to know
My efforts to shed dead skin get unnoticed
I grin on the inside of these vandalized walls
We share a love that wears many disguises
that you refuse to see
You chose to see only a few layers of me
We display a miserable performance
Consistently staring into my silence
I can’t make you use your tongue
I will never be enough or give enough
You are as broken in pieces as me
You don’t know how to walk away
I dare you to walk away like the rest
The grin expects the unexpected
Can you spell the word depression
Waiting for God to take me away
You will understand me when I’m dead and gone
And give more of yourself to another man
The dark side is gravitating

My books are available here.

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I’m not worth a penny
You won’t see any shine on me
I’m only a dot on this earth
You won’t even notice I’m here
I’m not a decoration
You won’t see that I exist
I’m only made up of coal
You won’t even notice that I’m gone
I’m just a tragedy waiting to happen
You won’t even care that I spoke
I scream in silence
To recognize that I’m alone

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Walking Paradox

She will care for thirty seconds
and write a novella of accusations
She will pine for your sensitive hands
and cry a stream of tears from a distance
She will crave hours of chit chat
and stare at grim skeletons in silence
She will dance and twirl in the garden
and be embarrassed of her defects in loneliness

“In my view, I was raped by his alluring
vocabulary, molested by his wit and probed
by his twinkling generosity. He turned me into a walking paradox.”

And the mystery within her dwells
And the inconsistency smears her delusions
And the absurdity fills her weary lungs
And the enigma is like condensation
And the anomaly marches within her mind

She will walk with poise and diligence
and shout with obscenities doused in wildfire
She will cherish the remains and residue
and toss her pieces she loathes in the garbage
She will wrap herself up in sanitized anxiety
and chuck courage up against the wall
She will run with convictions in her fist
and ignore the principles that define her

And the secrecy within her is desolate
And the conundrum drips frustration
And the perplexity drains her focus
And the complications steer her vision
And the rattle stumbles within her mind

“In my perspective, I was poisoned by his compliments, fondled by his intellect and abused by his sincere confidence. He turned me into a walking paradox.”

My books are available here.

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She’s exhausted from spilling ink
She’s uncertain with her fingertips
She’s wobbly and shaking on the inside
She’s powerless from the past
She’s flimsy as a thin piece of paper
Sing me a song for wide hope
Sing me a song for stretched out faith

She’s frail within her bones
She’s isolated from the rattle
She’s licking her wounds quietly
She’s aching for companionship
She’s comfortless and abandoned
Sing me a song for freedom
Sing me a song without chains

She’s tangled up in desolation
She’s withdrawn and torn down
She’s a tragedy without a witness
She’s reclusive and friendless
She’s a sky without any clouds
Sing me a song for change
Sing me a song for healing

My books are available here.