I close my
eyes and pull you close
to my chest
I opened my
eyes for the first time
to see a new purpose
I closed my
closets with
the hidden rain
I opened up
my crashing mind
to see my beloved soul
I closed the
stained glass window
to see the view
I opened up
the gates to feel
the flood from my eyes
I couldn’t stop
the driven rain
I feel worthless
No shine
Others are silver
I’m made up of copper
Very little value
Laying in cars
Sleeping on nightstands
A hundred of me
complete a dollar
Often hear “Keep it”
when change is created
I’m not wanted or valued
I feel worthless
One cent says it all
Check out my books!
Wretched old whore
Dirty rotten mouth
No filter spewing garbage
Based on wishful thinking
Lack of knowledge
Using terms without no foundation
Facts just mildew in her brain
Making assumptions
Connecting blurred dots
Due to her ill sicken mind
I could publish her life on line
But that’s right I have a conscious
To have friends you have to be human
To go to heaven you have to have a soul
Let God judge that not a troll
My written words
tell a story that
I refuse to unveil
You just don’t
notice it yet
You will understand
when I’m gone
You will be
on your own
with everything
that you wanted
all by yourself
You call
yourself a friend
But you are not
One by one
Evidence is clear
Meaningless word
Slowly my contacts
are erased from
my mind that use
that word
Don’t worry
My friends are the
words that are here
before my
awakened eyes
I know where I
get the attention
that I crave
It’s from people
who don’t even know me
that see me in
a different light
I “connect” with those
that write from the soul
and the heart.
I can accept the loneliness.
I altered my perception
and I got spit on
I appreciated someone’s art
and got tossed to the curb
I stand here misunderstood
and the sensitivity got ripped
I’m not surprised
Their perception never changed
Conclusions arrived
Mentally strange and delirious
Verdict is in
Deranged and unsound
Distinctly clear
Erratic and insane
Shining clarity
Unglued and unzipped
Opaque personality
Cockeyed and unbalanced
Dull as a pimple
You are my taint
An empty vase
Violent torn shell
Fanatical and laughable
Incompetent and childish
Demanding attention
Cruel and heartless
She’s the semen
Filling up the prophylactic
I’m a fabricator
A creator of illusions
Wishful imagination
that does not have a
shut off valve
In and out of the rush
Inside the blinking
castles in the air
I’m a architect of phrases
A vivid storyteller
Dreaming of what
does not exist
A innovator of scribble
Fantasy maker
submerged with words
Psychobabble is drooling
Filth sliding off your tongue
To a world that doesn’t want you
Chaotic rambles spill
Flourishing idiotic sentences
To only a southern cult following
Despised and detested
The walking anti Christ
An asylum meant for your family
Raising children to scream
Not speaking with an ounce of intelligence
Your mother should have used a condom
So the world didn’t have to put up with
Your nonsense and illogical thoughts
Check out my books!
I am used
to color a fire truck
I am used
to color a stop sign
I am used
to color a red light
I am used
to color flames
I am used
to color Santa’s Claus’s outfit
I am used
to color a red ribbon
I am used
to color lipstick
I love the red crayon
Check out my books!
Strutting contradiction
spewing selfishness
Child like temper tantrums
dilute your balloon ego
Even the scarecrows
don’t want you
A strolling blood clot
aimless direction
A rambling anthrax
Mindless and foolish
Even the soulless
don’t want you
A marching eye sore
Belligerent and foul
A corrupted delinquent
Hop scotching bitch
Even the demons from hell
don’t want you
Check out my books!
I wrote a love letter
from First Street
with a black
ballpoint pen
I wrote it from the
depths of my cursed
frightened heart
I wrote it from a
place that I did not
know existed
I can remember
clearly and
distinctively
First Street was
quite riveting
The love letter I
sent from First Street
created a magical
mind blowing moment
The first kiss
Never do I rest
Some are addicted
Always being used
Some abuse me
Rarely I am shut off
Some break me
I am full of so much
Some ruin lives
I can be a problem
Some people die
My purpose grew
I’m often used
at the worst times
I have a price tag
Unlike a human
Please use me
appropriately
I wrote a letter to emptiness but lost the address. I sought out the curves of my stars. I ran toward apathy but saw scattered dreams in a coffin. I was told to be practical. I walked through a smoke screen and ignored my instincts. I saw a future of formality’s as passion sat in a cage. I wrote another letter to emptiness and it was returned to sender. A bold red stamp was on the bottom of the letter. Find yourself.
Requesting peace
Uneasy separation
Raising the white flag
Just wanting to be alone
Clearly misunderstood
No need for drama
Let me sulk from your daggers
and just leave me alone
For you couldn’t see me
You take no responsibility
Hello All,
Today I have reached a milestone of acquiring a 1000 followers. I have stumbled across many great people, aspiring writers, and have enjoyed this journey.
I also want to thank those who have purchased my books. Thank you for all the support.
– Braeden Michaels
Eighteen is the magic number
Defines maturity and responsibility
Perhaps it’s just a digit
6570 days of being alive
But don’t know what you are living for
Answers and claims are unreachable
Eighteen is a number of legality
But not a number of wisdom
Talk to someone who has lived more days
Life isn’t about digits and numbers
It’s about the choices we make
Every choice from the 6570 day is critical
You just don’t know it yet ….
Oh Poet the emperor
Shall I dive into your
18th century plagiarized manuscript?
It’s not as hidden as you
believe as educated as you are
I can read you like the pamphlet
Yes pamphlet – the size of
your sweet vocabulary
Diluted words of nothingness
Playing with Drama
Because you are the Queen
Not the King of Denmark
Despite the riddle you keep
reciting your manhood and strength
Keep taking a step further
with your playbook
I will rip apart and expose you
for who you really are
Lonely just the like rest
Minutiae among the minds
Spastic clutter
Opening up a can of debris
Mixed up predicaments
A compilation of distress
Walking into turmoil
Gazing at a eyesore
A mayhem of selfishness
Mishmash of ideals
Seeking light in the wreckage
Tripping on hindrances
Overlooking headaches
Disoriented from the gospel
Ignoring the theorems
Forever searching the self
Exasperated point of view
Tearing and ripping me in half
Accepting my tired faults
Ruining what was too good to be true
Reality digging in my insides
Watching my mind crash
into a broken down train station
As the clock barely moves
I stare into the wrecking machine
Seeing a glimpse of my skewed
perception shine bright
in my dumb blank eyes
Realizing my mind needs to be
examined and reprogrammed
Refusing to stay on this damn street
Storm of Ink 