Family what is family.
The people that decide to catch you before you fall.
Or the people that decide to pick up the broken pieces when you’ve been smashed into millions.
The millions of millions that no one else would be willing to pick up.
Even if those millions of millions was just a game to pick up a few missing parts.
They are the ones that will build a fortress around you and tell you the world is not safe for you my child.
But they will let down that gate, even knowing that the world isn’t good enough for you.
Family will have left the gate open for you to leave, but they will always beg for you not to go.
Even after you’ve left that mighty fortress they built all for you, they will cast themselves out to watch over you.
They will be the birds spying over your life, seeming to always be there, singing along to your tune of life.
Although family will also be the birds waiting above in the trees, ruining the new wash done to your car.
They will always mean to do their best; they will give all of what they can give and more.
No matter if they have to fight off the jackals of fate to speak to you once more, they will find a way.
If you are in another castle they will travel once more and once more until they find you again.
No matter how lost you become they will find the light in the deepest of caverns.
And if there is no light they will bring their own, because they know what will lighten you up.
Understanding they will be, knowing that tough times are tough to get out of.
With that knowledge they will be the best to have around, they are the ones that will accept that we all sometimes frown.
They are the blessing of life not only because they build fortresses around you, but have the ability to let you live.
No, they are a blessing because whenever you finally find out that they were the reason to so much happiness.
They will be there wondering, **** how did you just find out?

My poem is called how to be forced into a talent show.
It's very easy to be forced into a talent show when you're me.
No, I am not saying, "Ooooo" look at me I am Michael Ryan and I am the most talented person in the world.
I'm more saying, "oooo" look at me, I'm such a nice person that I will do your talent show, even though I don't want to.
Yes, that is what I am really trying to say, but not in a conceited kind of way, because that's not me.
I was forced into this talent show from the very beginning.
The very beginning, the very first sign up day.
and I thought "hmm I don't have any talent", and she was like oh yes you do, well of course I believe her.
And from that moment I've felt slightly uneasy, because to be honest she can't be there every day to tell me "hey you have talent."
And to be honest all I'm doing is a SPOKEN WORD poem, which is pretty much just me talking.
What a talent that must be...but not really.
Then my friend tried to jump on board with me to do a duet of a poem, so I was forced even more in to this situation.
But luckily that person changed their mind and so I was just stuck with my original oh you have talents person stringing me along into this over thought situation.
Just to let you know I did eventually try to tell them hey I think I'm not gonna do(but then they cut me off), and told me once again you got talents, and please please please do my talent show.
So of course I can't say no, that's not what a nice guy would do, which I am.
And this is what came to me, how about I just write about how one is forced to be doing this in front of a group of people, even though you already said no soooo many times.
And to be honest this is terrifying, because I just came up with this, 30mins ago.
Even though I sat for many hours thinking what to write, it just never felt well right.
And ugh seriously this is so stressful, that I really do wonder why I am even up here.
I could be sleeping right now, but instead I've been convinced to do this.
And there's no guarantee anyone or myself will even like this.
But sleep, ****, I know I would like to fall into that right now.
Just dreaming, peacefully, to be sleeping and not on a stage, being gawked at by some strangers.

House maid
I was told that a house maid was someone that you paid.
A person. A stranger. A worker.
Someone that you don't really know.
Someone that you are estranged to.
Someone that simply cleans up after you.
You can't really complete sentences to them,
because when you look them in the eye, you only see a worker.
Seeing that honestly this person is beneath and worth only your filth.
That treating them decent would make them more.
That's not what you want, you want to see them as your servant.
While lying that you think of them as family.
Coming in and out of your house daily.
They only have time to clean up after your family.
When they come home to their own mess, there's nothing left.
Energy they used to ease your life, was the energy to rebuild their own.
Without energy all they have is the ability to rinse and repeat the cycle.
Now while I act like your house maid.
I no longer see you as the family members I maybe had.
but the estranged owners that now I have.
You are not simply my boss, but the people that own my life.
When I come and go out of my room to clean yours.
I see only the people and things that belong to strangers.
I am a live in house maid.
The only difference from me and a house maid is that they get paid.
You owning my life and all else, simply reminds me that I am no maid.
That simply put, I am most likely your slave.
and what a difficult place to be,
when I used to be your son.

We live in a cycle

my name is Michael

little kid rides a tricycle

while a grown up rides a bicycle

I have a sickle

to my right ventricle

some kid found a nickle

some grown up is being fickle

the red flood starts as a tickle

and ends at a trickle

little kid believes in a miracle

a grown up only sees an obstacle

my name is Michael

We live in a cycle

Words can not describe the agony
because agony is not a word
and words do not feel
people feel
people feel agony
because agony came from words
only people can describe agony: they started it

Yesterday was the day you were born,
some 30 years ago, right?
And today was the day we celebrated!
I am tightly wound into my own life;
that I even had to mention it in YOUR poem.
That aside I'm sorry to say I didn't know yesterday was your day.
Maybe this would of made it your way one day earlier,
or maybe I would of shrugged it off like my older self.
But to be honest that's not what I want to do.
I want to let you know that I know that you deserved to be noticed.
That the day and you did not go by like the wind.
That when the words floated by my ear that yesterday was your day.
I decided I must do something!
And I'm sorry to say, but like a homeless man all I have is a little sign and some words to display.
I'll creatively explain and show that you are an important part in the world, my world.
Doing this will hopefully let you know the significance of yourself to me.
I may be the person you have always fought with.
I may be the person you have screamed the most at.
I may be the person you are the most upset with.
You may be the person that I feel awkward around.
You may be the person I don't know what to say to.
You may be the person that I under-appreciate.
but mom I love you.

When you sit atop the clouds.
Will you peek through the glistening white strings of cotton.
To peer upon the shining smiles of the ones that you loved.
Maybe you will avoid their glances to the sky.
Maybe you will avoid them all together, and never watch their eyes, once more.
That even in the cloudy paradise of fluffy cotton candy.
There is pain that seeps into the pores of your fleshy, pudgy being.
Even while surrounded by pure existence.
Those ones still hurt your inside the most.
Not because of what they've done, but because of what you've done.
That after your final shadows has crossed the earth beneath .
You knew that your final bow was the greatest blow you ever dealt the, ones below.
Forever left to faded shadows and corrupted memories.
Signs that were hidden beneath your vague expressions.
Only thing left was the one time you cried out your pain to those below.
A simple ode to those lovely faces, typed out across your Macintosh .
The world through a looking glass
Only shattered for a brief moment before the show came to an end.  
A simple message,
I'll watch you from the clouds above.

I came up here to say another one of my silly little poems
and that's exactly what I'm going to do
except I won't only describe what i thought or what I think
I should describe exactly what I am
Before I even said a word some other things flashed through your heads
Some of them are simple facts and are easy to see
Yes, I am an overweight person and yes I am very red and no it is not a sunburn
Looking at my arms you'll notice that I do indeed have lots of freckles and I could possibly be a ginger
I do have two giant holes 1 in each ear with some metal in them, because I decided that was what I wanted to do
Possibly you thought that I don't look like a poet, instead just some bro that lost his edge
This would be my body through your eyes, and I'd pretty much agree with you
Superficially and esthetically you have determine who I am, in your head
but you would you be wrong, but possibly you could be right, but most likely you are wrong
So visually you have determined a few things about me, which has also decided if you like me or not
and it's this predisposition that makes you decide if I'm more interesting or just more annoying
but in actuality you don't even know my name yet, the most basic thing
Maybe you already knew my name, because they announced it, or we've met, but other than that you don't know me
Now that my body is out of the way, let me dig past all the social talk, and tell you what I tell my therapist, when I actually get the will to see him
I get to wake up in the morning and think "wow, I get to wake up again", telling sarcasm to yourself is kinda sad.
But it is a perfect fit when you are actually sad, or depressed, which sounds kind of extreme
sounds even worse when you throw the manic part in front of the depression; manic depression
now I sound like a crazy person, but really I just want to die, but I guess most consider that crazy
People around me find me as two sides of a coin
One is my poker face, which is a lot of fun, or myself I feel most of the time
Where I don't talk that much and I hide myself in the corner of the group; just to be in reach of people
Do I have a plan to **** myself, yet, no I do not, because I still have hope
hope that keeps the dead still alive, which I consider myself, someone that is dead,
but is still able to move around the shell that they are dead within
Now all of you random people and not so random people know, what my family and even my therapist doesn't even know.
That me, some peer of yours, you decided to identify some way because of my ears or my ginger soullessness, which I would judge the ginger too.
Would rather die than live the life that you've all help create, what a masterpiece it is.
Instead of believing these words of mine, you mistakenly think they are not proof enough
You'll ask what has happened to me
Gladly I'll be able to tell you that nothing bad has ever happened to me
my family is happy and my parents are still together and in love
I have no scars to show, other than the dumb accidents of life, or a random attack by a dog
I have no motive or reason to hate myself, but I do
and I guess that's everything I got to say
I did this to show my strength and my weakness at the same time to a whole bunch of people
Now this has warped your image of me even more, but it can't be any worse or any better
because you don't even know my name yet, and by the way my name is Michael and it's nice to meet you.

What's up?
Nothing much just a visualized image of a homicide.
Sometimes the mind wonders around thinking of someones death.
Imagining grey matter splatter across 4 walls, out of the 4 walls of your bedroom.
Your pet cat is fine and seems unmoved as it sits grooming.
Sometimes this event occurs because hopefully you've fallen onto hard times with ****.
Other times it's just the usual thing, wrong place wrong time.
It's kind of a game of cat and mouse; the only thing Jerry is that my dreams don't come out as a cartoon.
Sometimes the process of muscle and bone twinges leave a sweet rhythmatic tune.
But the one I like the best is when you pay for your own suicide, it's only worth a dime.
The insides pool and leave such provocative tinges.
Your new found beauty is the only thing that can make me cringe.

Each day is drowned in frigid waters.
Never able to dock against real land.
Little bubbles ripple to the surface of the ill-fated.
Riptides of hate and disgust slam the high towers of this mighty hull.
The icy cluster plunges into the depth of our core.
Defiantly this mighty bow of ours shrieks from its deathly hollows.
As if some ghostly being is wailing it's final departure to the sea.
Monotonous overtones creak inside this inlet;
as life and death flood to it's harmony.
Brimming with animosity and subjugation.
The majestic's heart yearns for land one last time.
Our innards displayed,
as our two halves fatally sink to their final depths.
Never reaching our idol port.  
Never finding what was Solely ours to find.  
A sinking Ship.

Twist and twist
That's what they all do
Twist and twist
**** those insides of mine
Why can't they learn that I don't like to tango
"Eye Spy with my little eye"
The reason why my insides learn to dance
Feats of contortion on display
Each pair of salsa dancers going for the gold
These duos never know when to quit
They want those mighty 10s but...
**** this brain of mine
This little dancer is satisfied with last place
He once was prized to finish out top tier
**** this brain, stop shaking feathers
Get the foxtrot down and finish this waltz
otherwise let the inside rest they having feelings too

Today I ate some pudding
It was the yummiest of all the kinds
I would tell you the flavor, but then we'd have to debate
Knowing the specific you always want to argue
Maybe you do this to mask the reason I even told you
I understand, but today I just don't have the strength to fight
The specifics don't really matter; not right now anyway
All I wanted to tell you, and for you to know
That at least today I ate.

A maniacal machine of glad and fad
A thing of mystery
A man that smiles the brightest of us all
No matter the weather, even in the fall
The darker stories that he never tells
Ring the most often of all the bells
These chimes are the very loudest
and his least proudest
They are the things that lead him to the bars
And honestly he hides these scars
His laughter is among the most of any
Because he was told not to frown by the most of many
He is not mad
Only empty and sad
All alone he is
Sharp edges are his only friends
Deprived of self expression
He's been in a depression
And this is why he is a maniacal machine of glad and fad
No longer a thing of mystery
At least here he's not the smiling man

A box.
That's all it is a box.
Some cardboard, no big deal.  Does not mean a thing to anyone else.
But I want to send this box so bad.
It's a box of thoughts and promises.
That it means the world.
I must get it out.
I must sail it over the sea.
If I must I will send it by plane.
If not plane then boat.
Yes, this is going where you think it is.
If not by either of those I guess I'll have to bring it by foot,
because this box only means the world when it's in your hands.
Not mine.
Everything inside would mean nothing if you did not exist.
I only have this box to give to you.
and inside is my heart, a metaphorical heart of course.
Because I'm pretty sure we both wouldn't be happy it was a real one.
That note would say; "Here's my heart where it belongs."
#I'mDead.
I don't know if you've noticed but it may be just a box.
But it isn't just a box at all.
If it means soo much and I put all I can put into.
Then this box is apart me,
but really it is a part of us.
I don't know if that makes sense.
Saying that a box is part of us,
but it is part of our thoughts and our history.
This box represents the world,
and that you and I exist.
It's a string that connects us when we can't be connected.
As I talk to you everyday and every night.
Miles and miles away.
It'll be on it's way,
and land at your door.
My heart.
and maybe yours.

I'm just a lonely fool
Don't know what to say so I act like a tool
though my words speak volumes
my mind speaks in tongues
all tangled up by some tough knots
my ideas are more realistic
always fleeting never staying
being intercepted by themselves
my mind ravishes ghouls
and explores the emptiness within
taken back by thy hollowed self
Earth only with one layer
Lithosphere but no juicy center
a lollipop with only a crusty beginning
body without heart only mind
depth like an ocean
never ending like the space above
pointless with no one exploring
breaking open barriers only to find fiends
through the looking glass all is bright
the eyes seek redemption and explanation
but they're Romeo and Juliet
can't see each other
Caves without torches hides the secrets of old
and only the mind can grasp hold
Know nothing want everything
just leave me alone
its what the monsters are best at.

My world.
And my way of making friends.
If you can stand to get to know me,
then you already know I accept you.
That you were in my mind, my friend, after one word.
I was already willing to ask you to go to the end of the world with me.
Because I build bridges with TNT.
When I say hello and knock on your world I don't use my fist.
I don't use a hammer.
I don't use a sledge hammer.
I use one of those giant gigantic ***** that break down whole walls.
I'm tearing down this whole city of yours just to get to know you better,
because my world is an open canvas and anyone can paint my world red.
Any detail you could ever want to know is on the tip of my head.
It's not on my tongue, because my life never hides in the dark.
I will invade every crevasse of your being, if you let me.
Because to be honest I want to know everything.
You are special to me, even if I'm not special to you yet,
because to me I've already accepted you.
Since in my world you make friends by doing.
Even though you or I have just said Hi, I don't want to say goodbye.
I want to be able to see you in the future;
I want to know that everything has gone well for you.
That with my TNT bridge making skills, they jolted us into each others lives.
That after my first soft spoken words, you knew that you could trust me.
Even though we haven't met yet, since I'm still in my room right now.
And you are somewhere doing something I've made this for you.
  This will be here to let you know.
That we are already friends.

I have to write a poem.
So I said I'd write a poem.
A poem about my a friend, a friend...I've never met.
One that I know.
Not a symbolic friend, but a friend that really exist.
She's somewhere in the world, yes I know where, exactly, not the street, but the distant land they live.
I may not know the true presence they give off if I were there in person.
But I know enough to know that they are dear to me!
I could go beyond to say that they are if not one of the best of any person I have ever come upon.
Maybe meeting the way we did was the best way for us to meet.
Being able to give our all; right at the starting gate.
No, worries of being frowned at, especially since most of the time we can't see each others faces.
But that doesn't matter I see so much more than the strangers in her life.
Even more than most friends will ever see.
I get to see what matters, and that means the world.
She maybe some what crazy, and most of the time fairly lame, really she is super super lame
But the lameness is what is so nice to see, since I am the same way.
Talking to her, 'hmm how can I explain for you to understand.'
Calming kinda like the ocean breeze, or relaxing on a devilishly sunny clear sky day.
Everything else is kinda blurred out, left to right nothing, but silence and peace.
Even if our insides are beaten up, and someone is sore from kayaking.
I think the knowledge that there really is someone else that cares,
even if they too don't have a picture of me on some wall.
I know that they are willing to try to make me happy and that says so much more.
They may never be able to give me a shoulder to lean on,
but their words will always be there to pick me back up.
They're my friend and I can't thank them enough.

Every time you spit these words around me.
You spray them out with such anger.
Every time you speak these lines.
I can't help but see you breathing fire.
Hearing the snarl in your voice.
I don't see family, I see a monster.
Some creature that lurks within my own home.
Someone that likes to call themselves a parent.
I may be too old, to be the one you shout out and hit.
But I can't watch a beast lash out at the ones around it.
Your frustration taken out onto the ones that beg for your love.
The people look to you for care and guidance.
Not for you to spit venom and strike them down with your bloodied claws.
You call yourselves people.
But I only see devils disguised as monsters.
The brief moments where you stand tall as a father or a mother.
Do not come often enough, more likely.
You fall hard onto your more instinctive traits.
Of gnarled rawrs and slashes across those who you feast upon.
Become people not monsters,
and treat your children as equals.