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

I’m a wounded prize,
Laced up in bitterness.
I’m a lethal injection,
Trapped in a empty bottle.
I’m a bullet from a war,
Only shot through my veins.
I’m a discarded black heart
Only seen in the shadows.
I’m the venom from the rattlesnake
Only to swallow with salt.
I’m a chill on my own spine
Only to stop from being numb.

I can’t sleep

without the scent of your pillow

Toss and turn

I can’t sleep

without you beside me

Toss and turn

I can’t sleep

without your warm embrace

Toss and turn

I can’t sleep

without a kiss good night

Toss and turn

I can’t sleep

without saying I love you

Toss and turn

****

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Choking on self served dirt

Prancing in your delicate castle

Bantering with the jester

High regards as a princess

Pointing at the fabric

stonewashed character

Keep sipping on your ideals

Seeking hidden agendas

Removing the plastic

Only glancing not seeing

Interpretations of nothing

Creating a plate of something

Keeping sipping the cup of dirt

Between the dead air

and the white noise

Insomnia has filled the

room like a stench

Clinging to the anniversary

and illuminating memories

Refusing to let them

go from my palm and from

my pumping heart

that is secluded in

a storm above a small

wild island

Inside my daughters eyes

streams of sadness forever

stare into grey

Park Place is just a street

Home was always with him

Waking up alone

surviving each day

with a ray of hope

I’m beautiful

I have so much to offer

I know where my heart lives

Forgive me if I speak the colors of truth
Forgive me if I stare into the painted sunset
Forgive me if I stand to close to the walls
Forgive me if I walk alone on the trails
Forgive me if I view myself as a whirlwind
Forgive me if I ramble in my head
Forgive me if I notice you don’t care
Forgive me if I see nothing in my future
Forgive me if I bottle up what you can’t see
Forgive me if I vent my frustrations to myself
Forgive me if I tell myself it will all be ok
Forgive me if I just keep to myself
Forgive me if I die and no one is at my funeral

Should I care enough

to acknowledge your existence

Do I care enough

to reply back to your nonsense

Should I care enough

to slap that grin off your devious face

Do I care enough

to raise my palm toward an empty man

Should I care enough

to not leave you penniless

Do I care enough

to take you to court

Should I care enough

to walk away from you

Do I care enough

about myself to make a decision

Should I care enough

about myself to leave you

*Marie had asked me to use this title for a poem.

****

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So much anger

So much bottled

So much frustration

So much repeating

So much carelessness

So much distance

So much ignoring

So much venom

So much contained

So much lost

So much wasted

So much avoiding

So much gone

So much feared

So much vile

So much excrement

So much confusion

So much

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.

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

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

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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