MisiaaMichelle Poetry

[*gasp!* Misia, is this a love poem? NO. it is not a love poem. It’s everything but a love poem. Just read it. I’ve been having some feels lately. enjoy.]

Some things on this planet

Are just so painfully obvious to see
They seem to just disappear under the trusted sight
That our eyes behold
And slip past the simple minds of creatures 
Like you and me.

Like when letting your guard down,
You might as well be signing your soul and mind away to the heart
For you know rhythms old scent of loneliness 
Will always come back around.

But no matter how un-circular you make that mirror,
The thought of the other side always seems clearer
When your opaque walls are down.

It’s possible that the mastermind behind this plan is of the
Human’s uncontrollable hunger for all things challengingly simple.

But to see what is so painstakingly obvious,
Take a look past the transparent clarity of the mirror.
Far beyond you, and far beyond what the reflection simply hides.
That’s where the ghosts like me dwell,
With the white sheet of hatred, always over ourselves.
Not the broken hearted,
But the masters of the art of heart breaking.

You may believe that we have nothing,
but the warming comfort
of our cold, stone-hard hearts,
that don’t crumble under the pressure
of the slightest sob of a child.
To you we are the contracting colour
of the beautiful baby blues and whites,
the pure broken-hearted people
that make up the content depression in the world.
The only exception is to the ghosts that travel
the unspoken roads of the world.

Once again, the now less-trusted sense of sight
chips away another part of the protective coat of polish off of our hearts.
If you take a closer look by moving away,
You’ll understand what I’m trying to say.
You cannot simply compare.
If we’re looking passed what everyone possesses and compare the similarity.

We, the heart breakers,
Have the same pale translucency in our skin and bones,
and unfortunately,
as dull as the darkest depths of our bodies may be,
there lies a tiny ill-protected heart,
just waiting to be torn out
in the most vicious, brutal and quiet way imaginable.

We breakers of this poor center
fail to keep ourselves from deteriorating alone with them.
When the knife slices through skin and bone,
It will never be as sharp as it has been before.
Time and time again, soon the master cutters will be left
with nothing but the bitter sweet feeling 
of the cold-hearted blood on their hands.

The only time, which we hope our eyes are deceiving,
we realize that this time around 
the mirror is reflecting back at ourselves,
and not the mysterious unwanted utopia where people like me dwell.

We’ve become the broken hearted,
and in this simple challenge we have upon us-
we will never know if in the end,
The breaking of the fragile muscle, is really, always in our hands.

-Michelle J.

September 6, 2012

[this poem was written for my Math teacher, and most of the lines have a lot of inside jokes in them, but nonetheless, hope you enjoy. It’s actually a funny poem, not like the usual poems I write.]

This poem was inspired by my little rap videos.
But really,
What inspiration can they give me,
If the only thing I can see,
Are the slightly irregular perfect lines,
Crossing from point A to B on the x and y axis.
But why axis? Why not silence for once
So I can maybe feel the soundwaves
Going into my ears
Like du-nu-nu-nu- na-nu-nu-nu
I always seem to hear in here.
I mean, I’m standing outside the door,
Alongside the Kommander,
While the captain is inside trying to
Control his own ship.
I know that you are by night,
The knight of dark,
But remember, maybe someone else
Has something  to say
That’s not a question, comment or a rude remark.
But maybe you wouldn’t be able to hear it,
Because the jingling of the keychain
Hanging out your back picket is just slightly too loud.
I’m glad you allow us freedom,
But sometimes some things aren’t meant
to be free.
Because the freedom can produce an odor of toxins,
That fills the air, the reason for it would be,
Someone forgot to put the cap back on the marker.

I still don’t know why
I drag myself out of bed every morning to be on time or class,
I mean, what’s the point of being afraid
To walk into class late;
When the teacher himself strolls through the door,
Green thermos, 5 minutes later,
With hiker boots hitting against the floor,
Louder than ever.

I remember when I used to go early to school for a reason.
Bet you didn’t know, first semester, first period class,
I kept my chin high 
And I made poetry because I needed it.
Partially for my mark, but partially for the teacher.
I still try that here and I won’t stop trying
Until my marks are flying high
And are “Mr. Chin Sexy”.
Until they are so high,
That if I were to graph them,
Their slope would be undefined.

So mx+b because that equals y
As in why am I always trying
To be
IJ, BM, and OP,
When I’m in this class?
I say, “Misia, sit your ass down
And do your work,
stop talking to Gengar and Snorlax and all the pokémon nerds.

I get it, we all make mistakes now and then,
But I guess that’s why we use a pencil rather than using a pen,
Like when
I accidentally plot (3,2) instead of (2,3)
I can always try again because I know we’re gonna beat
The bananas and weirdos that are on the other team.

But I want to say that I appreciate that,
And now maybe even more so,
So I guess, thanks for coming out,
We love you, Caruso!

 -Michelle J.

[this is the poem I wrote and presented for my school’s poetry slam. Enjoy!]

You know your life has gone downhill,
When nothing,
Not even the end of the sharpest point of a blade,
Or the bottom of a bottle of pills,
Will give you the will
To live
And that chill
Colder than a winter morning
Colder than the cuts on your arm
From your own self harm.
Yet hotter than your own living hell
You can tell yourself now,
It can’t save you.
It controls you.
It loathes you
As much as you loathe yourself.
And when you’re on that edge,
The edge of the ledge,
That last step you can choose to take before you fall to your…
Death.
You’re telling yourself
Just. Don’t. Fall.
But in the sense of it all
That will to fall
Will crawl
Into your mind
And maul the very idea,
The very spark to stay alive.
Remember- you are still alive.
I still don’t get why
All my life
I’ve been waiting to see
If my life would be
“worth living”
Worth breathing
Worth crying and laughing
And waiting and wanting
To do that… Thing.
That everything.
And we’ll wait.
Just to see the answer
Yet we are impatient enough.
I’m impatient enough,
To just finally give up
On myself, and paint the red lines on my arms.
Paint those beautiful scenes of crimson and life,
While my own life just seems to bleed away.
Without a sound… Without a care.
Isn’t that just it?
Isn’t that what I want?
Isn’t that what haunts our minds and what fives us the want
And need to finally
Wake up from this dream.
And never go back to sleep.
I know that there should be nothing more that I should love,
Than to slumber against the perfection of my own skin at night.
I wouldn’t know, because
What is the point if sleeping if you don’t dream?
I always hide my invisible scars of the past,
Even though they are screaming
To be noticed from underneath my sleeves.

I can’t be able to say
What I want these days.
My own self,
Hates, shakes and breaks
My voice. It’s our choice.
We are the reason.
Not for the season,
Not for the trees, or the bees,
Or the happiness and glee.
We are the pain.
The insane.
The simple train of thoughts
That says, “we have nothing to lose,
Only gain.”
Yet it loses every single time,
Because of our own need
To see
The end of our movie.
All the time.
It’s over before we know it,
Just a few seconds ago, we were at the high of our lives,
The climax of the film.
But I know everyone will be cheering and clapping when my movie is complete.

And I try.
I really do. I tell myself,
What I need to prove.
To all of you. The audience of my…

I tell myself,
Don’t go through,
Don’t murder the truth,
Don’t let them win.
Start over again. And when,
The time is right, I’ll remember
Things only go downhill
Because someone thought it had the power,
To go for the kill,
And to push me down.
But they don’t know
In the time I’ve had, falling to the ground,
I’ve managed to grow
And learn to show
Everyone, what you and I are capable of.
So next time,
Someone pushes you back down that hill,
Make sure o grab them by the throat,
And take them down with you.

-Michelle J.

They don’t realize,
How the words they say,
Pierces your heart,
And let’s your life bleed away.

They dont realize,
How all those words hurt,
And how I try not to let it affect me,
But nothing seems to work.

I laugh with them,
I laugh at myself,
But even all this laughter,
Doesn’t seem to help.

Even my friend’s join with them.
Were the really my friends?
Since they don’t see that they’re hurting me,
This relationship seems to depend.

It depends on who’s there,
And how you want to be seen,
Because if they aren’t there with them,
They don’t really seem so mean.

But what they do not realize,
Is that every word is just a little worse.
It’s like everytime there is mre pressure,
The cuts on your skin cause more hurt.

And the scars cut deep.
And the memories don’t fade away.
If the scars are still there,
Then the nightmares will stay.

They don’t seem to acknowledge,
They don’t seem to care.
They only seem to say the things,
They aren’t supposed to share.

And sharing may be caring,
Unless what your sharing is pain
And pain can go through deeper than flesh,
it can even hit a vein.

Not just any vein, but one that makes you feel,
Makes you feel like a piece of sh.t
Honestly sometimes I don’t even know
Why it’s worth living like this.

Why its worth to make someone feel this way,
Why it’s worth to see people in pain.
Why it’s worth to not do anything about it,
Why it’s worth to even stay sane.

They don’t realize the death that theyre causing,
They don’t realize all the suicides.
They don’t realize all of the wrists being cut,
They don’t realize because those are things we hide.

They dont realize. They just don’t.
They don’t pay attention to the words they say.
Words can hurt, to the most dangerous point.
They don’t realize that they take lives away.

Nov 10, 2011

When the sky goes dark,
the earth goes to sleep.
Except for the nightmares,
Which are hidden in the deep.

Nightmares that haunt you,
To the edge of the world,
You cant see, it’s pitch black,
It’s like a giant blindfold.

A blindfold that can’t be taken off,
Until your scared for your life,
But when it does disappear,
The memory stabs you like a knife.

And the pain that comes afterwards,
The paranoia, the scare,
It’s like every little tiny thing,
Is causing you despair.

And every night, You begin to dread,
And you try to stay up longer
Finding every single excuse
To do anything but slumber,

And you go insane, your mind is gone,
You go crazy and you look like your dead,
Because everytime you go up to your room,
You can’t even look at your bed.

The setting of the nightmares, the things that devour
Every piece of your mind,
You breath faster every minute, and you debate whether,
You should leave dreaming behind.

Your nightmares are real. They’re your reality now,
Everything is created by that thought.
You stay away from anything that looks scary,
Because of fear that you may be caught.

There’s no turning back. Too bad for you.
There’s nothing you can do now.
You’re one of them. The creatures of the night,
You must be asking yourself, how?

Because when the sky turns dark, and the earth goes to sleep,
There are still creatures that awake.
And all you know is to stay away from them,
Just for your life’s sake.

But since now you don’t sleep, and you don’t ever plan to,
Because it the thing that you truly fear.
You are turning into the creatures of the night.
You don’t know that they are already here.

So lock all your doors, and check under your bed,
And carefully turn off your light
Because when it is dark, the earth goes to sleep.
Except for you, for you’re the creature in the night.

-Michelle J.
Nov 15,201

Cut your wrists, leave the marks.
See who’ll care.
Jump off the building, in the dark.
See who’ll care.
Tighten the rope around your neck,
See who’ll care.
Swallow the pills, and never come back,
See who’ll care.
Stab the knife through your heart,
See who’ll care.
Starve yourself and fall apart.
See who’ll care.
Run onto the street, get hit by the car,
See who’ll care.
Pull the trigger, no one cares who your are,
See who cares.

Now take a look around you,
And take in everyone you see.
Every single person you’ve ever met,
And then take a look at me.

For these are people who believe in you,
And see the beautiful person you are
You’re as beautiful as a sunset, as breathtaking as northern lights,
And shining as bright as a star.

So just think once more, before you jump off,
And before you take one last breath of air.
Because everyone here. Everyone in your life,
Are the people that will always care.

-Michelle J
A poem written about a friend who needed to know that I’ll always care for her.

(Source: misiaaliceannie)