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7.5k · May 2016
Drunken Elephants
Michael Ryan May 2016
I'm a ****** of ambition
a clairvoyant
whose true sight can only
seer through my objectives.

I am juxtaposed from my life--
from passion and experience
feeling is a concept
that lingers outside the realm
where I reside;
by choices I was forced to make.

It has bibulous proportions
that consume my cravings
and intoxicate the senses--

So can we believe to be free
instead of circus-elephants
who plunged their trunks
into a trough of indecision.

Where caging and pushing
each other to perform tricks for the audience
is the normality of existing--

to be the scampering mouse
that lives outside their barriers
causes them to fear us
to stampede and
stomp until
there is only obedience.
Good luck little mouse.
6.7k · Mar 2013
The Fortress around You
Michael Ryan Mar 2013
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?
Spoken word poem, I think most if not all of what I write is spoken word.
Michael Ryan Sep 2015
Plastic bags are my super villain
and no I am not Aqua Man
I am Michael a normal male civilian
of some young-adult age,
whom is still willing to inconvenience himself.

Not so old, where holding multiple objects
sounds like an obstacle too acrobatic for the limbs to handle.
One can too many knock's off the balance of the elderly
and cast them off the trapeze of a sidewalk
into a net of asphalt, where being caught is a broken hip.

No that is not me, although it does remind me
of my grandma, because to her plastic bags are her life-savers.
It is a struggle to convince my grandma that I am a great trapezist
so we can leave these bags to their solitude
and finally defeat this enemy.

Although with plastic bags it is never so easy
they have plenty of goons who are willing to do the ***** work
forcing themselves upon us at any opportunity,
even those that don't make any sense, even for my grandma.

I Went to Best Buy and bought a brand new movie,"Unfriended"
and I got it for my grandma to watch, since she's a bit technophobic.
This movie will haunt her; for ghosts **** people through the internet.
What will haunt me is Destiny, the worker, handing me a plastic bag:
with a 13-ounce, smaller than a piece of paper Blu-Ray inside
...without even asking if I wanted a plastic bag.
This poem I wrote because of my struggle to not use plastic bags and how silly my family thinks I am for attempting to do so, especially when I am coming home from Winco or Walmart or Target or the gas station or some fast food place.
5.9k · Mar 2016
Doctor's I can't afford
Michael Ryan Mar 2016
They are the heart givers
and the breath takers
without them I cannot live
but just like my exgirlfriend
they can't seem to find
where they left their compassion.

I cannot breathe
but that is only because it cost too much to live
understanding their desire of money
it pains me to know greed
not of my own will be the cause of my death.

That in my generosity I forgot
planting trees does not grow the greens they seek
and the carrots sprouting are ones they eat
not the ones they don't wear to the office
but dance around their family with.

Education was supposed to be their gravity
and with each ounce of knowledge
built an anchor to the moon
because instead of humanity
they've become a celestial star
whose imagination wanders
outside the orbit of those who may be suffering.

A broken hearted soul
paves the waiting room with their corpse
because while in the void
something had to go and
it wasn't the money
but a man that couldn't
afford to keep his heart going.
Heart problems, but eventually a problem that I can't afford to fix.
5.8k · May 2015
Turning 22
Michael Ryan May 2015
When you Turn 22
Things tend to tread for years on end
No longer the blushing youngster
or the naive college drinker
the world may open slowly
as an oyster holding closer it's pearl
the same goes for the world
once coming of age
becomes the ripe wine we've been waiting for
you will not turn to stone
but turn into the truth
which is who you've been designed to be
after 21
this is when the silhouette you've been filling
finally fades on in
who are you
who did you want to be
well now,
let's find out.
Birthday May 20th, turning 22. I'll delete this later.
5.6k · May 2016
Farmers' Market: The 'Poor'
Michael Ryan May 2016
My dreams
do not come attached to
the ideals of my people
or the sacrifices of another country.

Instead I am poor
and mine are clinging to life
the very idea of existence.

Mundane flashes--
not adventurous endeavors
nor flights around the world
this is what richly folks do.

Simply a mingler
someone whose life
flourishes around the bends
of florescent street lights
and panhandling
nearby a farmers market
just after sunrise.

This remnant is few
as these are neighbors
local countrymen
who stoically face
the world's deviation
and deprivation
from coexisting

by the bonds of
agriculture and personality
even as a beggar
it is but a joyous memento
to a world that
no longer thrives.
In ways we advance with technology, but with causality and complacence some bits of humanity seem to slip away.  Or maybe it was never there in the first place.
4.1k · May 2015
The Samurai's Sand
Michael Ryan May 2015
Each battle their swords clash
mighty men stagger back,
with every hack and slash
little cracks break into those blades.
Each force of energy carves a new path--
victories told by this warriors tale of sand
beads of red spill openly,
and more brown rocks turned into blood
they are the clear sign
to a samurai's way to end.

A jar on the counter filled to the brim--
layers of dust coat the outside
within the hearts of mighty men
whom were slain all by one man;
now he old and gray living in a younger age.

His only wish was to be a true
samurai, one to turn into sand,
to become part of the trophy case--
sword in hand and a slight bow
he does the honorable way,
to join his samurai men.
I just thought of warriors and the fate they want to live and how in some way it is peaceful to go out the way they desired.  Well I am really tired so this is more than likely not that great.
Michael Ryan Aug 2015
Life energy radiates within--
literally the energy of beings
exist within your veins;
hungry animals thirst within those capillaries.

The lungs that heave
are the muscular tissues of  little chickens--
tendons that tore to make you strong,
elongated strands of fat from each bite
made the skin around your lips.

Though the calcium of bones
was not used in this current cuisine--
blood was made into pudding
dessert maybe used to make hemoglobin.

We feast on flesh to create our own
same goes for the creatures that we eat
they mangle the essence of life
to satisfy their own longevity.

All must eat to survive,
remember with each bite
comes the sacrifice from the sky
it begins with the Sun,
and ends with the Earth.
I detest name replacements for food, such as "Pork" or "Beef" these names help people feel like they are not harming anything or ending the life of another.  People get to feel clean from the reality, but really they are eating the flesh of dead animals and they should become aware of what they are doing (for everything).  It's okay to eat animals and such, but we should become aware of the reality and be able to provide more decent systems to have a better quality life while living.  No matter what you eat, you are eating a piece of the Sun and that energy will some day absorb into the Earth.  Live smart and know more.
3.8k · Jul 2014
Your House Maid
Michael Ryan Jul 2014
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.
I am not treated like true family, nor are things that relate to me of any importance.  Spending money on yourself is much easier then spending less your "family"
3.7k · Mar 2023
In Another Life [Groceries]
Michael Ryan Mar 2023
I would have really liked
just doing laundry and taxes with you.

We're near the avocados
and I can't help but tease you
"when are you going to make the avocado dish"
it's with a sly smile I ask this.

I can't resist,
seeing your little dance
your face scrunched
and you're flustered -
"we'll get them right now, so I can make it this time"

"No, no."
"We'll get them next time"
but really I don't like avocados
it's just part of the fun.

You drop some blueberries into the cart
"they're good for the heart".
Loving someone and being loved can be easier and more difficult than anything else in life.  One month past breakup and in a complicated space of will it come back or is it gone forever.
3.7k · Oct 2020
Bojack, Tell me.
Michael Ryan Oct 2020
Am I a good person?

Underneath all these layers
(The layers of an onion)
[Like Shrek, full of layers]
-pretty sure the onion quote is dead-

I don't want you
to remove my layers
to find a person that
isn't the same on the outside.

Onions are perfect
because with each layer
they look exactly alike.

If you took me apart
we'd find the person
I think you want me to be.
(If you took me apart you'd be a murderer)
[Don't try to find out, organs don't talk.]
-The mess would be such a hassle-

I wish someone could tell me.
It's all in the way,
these layers
they're all that we have.
I've been quoting the onions almost my entire life, I don't know if that's how great the line is or how much I haven't grown.  Could be both.  Pro tip: turn on a fan when cutting onions makes the process a whole lot easier.
3.6k · Nov 2013
The Talent Show
Michael Ryan Nov 2013
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.
There was a talent show 13/11/13 and this is my poem.  I did a duet with another person with this poem, where she would say somethings in between some of these lines, people really enjoyed the show.  They said it was hilarious.  This was edited a lot for the duet since it was not planned to be that way at all.
3.5k · Aug 2015
The Restaurant Reviewer
Michael Ryan Aug 2015
The middle class idea of theft--
where we eat at semi-fancy restaurants
seated at faux leather interior
deep seated dimly lit coves
dine in a sarcophagus of tasty mildew.

A youth lends their smile
teeth faintly shine through,
but roughly cut short of sincere;
on their lapel in fine print the label says Sandy.

Flexing water spotted plastic
black brim borders
and articulated names of food
that would put all of Italy to shame.

Porcelain plates hold lofty portions
of what is purely compensation
as texture and flavor remind me of my adolescence
this is when Playdoh and Crayons are used for flavoring.

A slate for my signature is provided
and the upside to this all
was the perfection of a pen they lent me
it was ball tip and bright pink--
finally something I'd be glad to take home with me.
Uumm I guess this is about how things steal culture/people/ideas and serve them to us in a unfaithful/dishonest fashion OR it's just a review of some random place and their feelings towards a pen.
3.4k · Mar 2012
Recycle
Michael Ryan Mar 2012
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
This wasn't thought out well, but I liked it even if some it is forced and would have to be read with my voice to fit better. Oh well.-----I did make the form fit what I"m talking about though :)
Michael Ryan May 2015
I haven't told anyone--
but I know that my neighbor is dead
because when laying in my bedroom
separated by my wall and his.
I no longer feel him there as I usually did.

He always listened to "Horchata", by vampire weekend
on repeat it played as he slept.
I imagine he wanted to dream of tropical islands
to be back with his wife and child in the Philippines--
every morning it seemed to disappear
at the same moment he could no longer dream his dreams.

Each day making sure to wave to my neighbor
the largest smile I've ever seen was this mans,
with off pigment teeth that speckled in the morning sun
tarnished yellow from all the coffee I brought him;
it was a lovely smile, wish I had it framed to see it still.

As I usually do on Mondays I made my stop
popped open his door bringing his surprise,
some variety of coffee that sits idly on my counter--
inside hung the man I admired,
with a simple note saying "Thank you Young-Man"
and in front of him a scorched photo of his pregnant wife.

placid were his hands in mine--
setting aside the gift, I gave the only thing that I could.
I set the photo in his shirt pocket, "he deserved to be with her"
and putting his cd on repeat as "Horchata" filled the silence
slowly did I depart and head to my own bed.
After calling the police I hoped to fall asleep
and dream of tropical islands of where my neighbor is...
I think this treads the line between only story telling and poetry, all poetry is a story, but not all stories are poetry.  This is my imagining of how someone would feel if they were close to their neighbor and found them 'not with us anymore'.  Honestly it makes me kind of sad to write these poems, and get into the head and feelings of people that go through these things.  I don't know what to title this.
Michael Ryan Feb 2014
I cut myself to see how much I will bleed,
And watch as little bubbles of rubies fall from the flesh.
They swim so slowly across the open air, they are life giving bubbles.
And fall into infinity as they wash into the depths of the ocean floor, my shower.
As the waves of precious rocks begin to cease.
I press hard against the current to make the waves come back to life.
Giving life to watch my own fade away.
Of course this one crack in the surface of the world is never enough.
And so the earthquakes and new ruptures burst onto the surface.
It's just nature taking it's course.
The land trembles and somethings happens to rip open.
Spewing out boulders not bubbles.
They don't slowly sweep across the skin.
Nor do they float down into the depths below.
But spew out quickly and slam down into the ocean floor, my shower.
Turning clear into murky.
Changing the pure face of water into tainted minerals.
These waves will never stop.
Until the source they came from is gone as well.
Optional optional not so optional to me.  I don't know why I felt like writing this.  I am not on the brink of death and I am no where near feeling this.  I feel very very happy right now, thinking about my sweety and loving her.
2.9k · Mar 2012
Agony
Michael Ryan Mar 2012
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
I don't think any thing I write is good, but I have nothing else to do so I do it.
Michael Ryan Nov 2015
Retype number 3,018--
I don't really think I've written
this many entries for just one poem

it's a beam of light that
scores my thoughts
and begins to type across this board

but in the end
it was a refraction of shadows
hinting at another dream

because these ramblings of another world
are the minds way of scrambling
to form new words
and convey our Neverland
that we've Neverfound

Scented candles add an extra burst
of enthusiasm to wander this page a little longer
because they are my witness
that even Evergeen Woods
have some Cinnamon Bark hidden in them.

the candles are made of wax
and when I pour myself to sleep
perhaps our wicks stay lit
or do we fiddle away
with our dreams.
Something about something.
2.6k · Dec 2015
My Counselor's Window
Michael Ryan Dec 2015
It's not really a window
but a picture of a boy--
that somewhere in my counselor's past
allows the kid to peer into his future,
into a time that is no longer here.

Maybe it reminds my counselor of better times
or the opportunity he is lucky to have now--
the boy must represent something
but I would not know for sure, as I am not him.

Although I did ask my counselor one day
about this window that watches him work--
this young boy, nothing but a child
normal as most youth always looks
the photo only granting an image
not the whole picture.

"He was a spitfire"
must have been only four foot five,
if that probably shorter
he was rough and tough
not even the Seniors were willing to bother him
those same seniors became
the boy's friends took care of him
they had lots of fun when they could.

The boy.  The Window.
Was not the usual ghostly clouds
or the average bleached pale Caucasian
as their defects were in their circulation
the wind cannot move through mountains
and neither can blood pump through chambers
without the right gust.

Sometimes children
lay down to never wake up again--
maybe it's in the hospital
for another heart surgery
that just happened
not to catch the wind quite right.

The boy was a student--
his counselor was there for him
at a different school in a different time
that even as it flows
the counselor has a window
for this boy
to watch the world from.
My Counselor has a picture of a boy that was one of his favorite students.  The boy was sick and did not outlive that one year of high school that he tried his best to attend.  He died during heart surgery never making it off that table.  My counselor said he still thinks about that boy everyday.  And it has been many years since he passed away.
Michael Ryan Nov 2018
She's been next door
since my birth
and you may wonder how that
is even possible
when I am four or five years older than her.

I met her at a time
in my life
where my world changed,
and in this change
I tried to live--
to live for anything.

In my futile attempts
to find purpose
to conquer the beasts
of mental illness,
she's been at my window
to see this eternal struggle of mine.

She's wonderful
completely and utterly--
of course this doesn't mean she's perfect
and even more of course she's far from it.

But maybe it's that imperfection
that has allowed
her and I
to have open windows,
open hearts,
and open conversations--
no matter the
Time zones, languages, or illnesses
we always come back
understanding each other
just a little bit more.
2.4k · Dec 2018
Happy Christmas Eve
Michael Ryan Dec 2018
Merry Christmas Eve.
Merry Christmas Eve.

If I said holiday cheers one more time
it'd become redundant,
but to each of you
that chance upon this--
know that if I could
I would wish you a thousand splendid
Christmas Eves.

I would become the chain
children make in school
counting down the days till Christmas.

I'd become the warm smiles
with hands holding
even warmer coco
to keep you toasty; tis the season.

I'd bring fresh pine scent
and logs for the fire,
these will be here
to bring the aura of the holidays to your home.

I may not be a rich man,
more near to those you see
pitching for spare change;
this would never stop me
from finding you a gift to cherish.

I would give you all the time
you ever wanted and needed,
because I know that around the holidays
we all need a little bit more care.

Merry Christmas Eve.
For everyone out there, sincerely, from me to you I heartfully ❤ wish you the best holidays, and
2.4k · Jul 2011
Paramedic delay
Michael Ryan Jul 2011
I remember the night that you couldn't move

my brother and I remember the pain we felt

as we both called for an ambulance that lived right next door

remembered every dreadful second they are as 30 minutes click on by

as we wondered if you'd die

we drowned in tears as we were left alone
Parents out of town my brother(12) and I(9) and my grandma who became sick home alone.
Michael Ryan Jan 2013
I can't wreck this boat
I can't crash it into the depths once more
I gotta clean it up
I gotta clear the skies and wasp this deck
Otherwise these sails will forever fall
Otherwise the murky waters will creep aboard
Underestimate the strength of a breeze from the past
Underestimate these old boards, but they can float
everything can fall off it'll come back to the surface
everything can't go back together
NOT this time, no repeats, this boat is no Delorean
NOT in the past everything is right now
again no thanks my friend
again this boat has life preservers hope you can find them
I don't know how this really goes I kinda read this one like a rap.
2.4k · Jun 2013
Yesterday was Your Birthday
Michael Ryan Jun 2013
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.
I'm just using this as a storage place for thought.  Will be deleted soon most likely.   The people have voted and the poem stays.
2.2k · Apr 2013
Tinges of Desperation
Michael Ryan Apr 2013
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.
The day is dead.  Enh what's the point for this, not like I get any feed back.
Michael Ryan Apr 2015
When is your birthday
I only wonder when so I can wish you the best--
each  year you may not ask me to show up at your door,
but I will gladly surprise you with a cupcake and a smile.
Maybe a card that randomly says way too many things;
muddling the message that I really was trying to say, you are special.

Not only today is your day, but today is more your day than anyone else--
That while I celebrate when you came to life,
I also celebrate your struggles and I celebrate your victories.
Cheering, screaming, and chanting for the public to know, today, is yours!

I will gladly burn down any building with the candles from your cupcake--
Because you are getting older, but **** it, it's tradition.
I have to pack that cupcake with 24 candles,
even though they stopped looking good at 16,
I could have gotten smaller ones, but I keep buying the same pack every year.

No matter who you are, I will bring the cupcakes--
just accept that while I attempt to ****** you with diabetes
I'll also be showing you to the whole world around us,
so don't be shy, because it'll only give me more ideas for next year.
When people tell me that it's their birthday or it's going to be soon.  I just plan things for them because it's such an important day.  I want people to know that they matter and their birthday is an amazing day to do so!
2.2k · Aug 2014
Cotton candy clouds
Michael Ryan Aug 2014
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.
My existence is a rather meek one.  The thought of simply walking outside leads no benefit, when simply walking outside is a lesser ideal than not having to walk ever again.
Michael Ryan Sep 2013
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.
I'm writing a spoken word poem so I can go to a poetry slam thing whenever there is one and be able to do this poem.  It's been a long time since I've done some stand up poems, it would be nice to do one again. The poem is done other than grammar stuff, but I don't care about grammar.  "It's nice to meet you"
2.1k · Jul 2014
Flooding Harmony
Michael Ryan Jul 2014
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.
It's what you do to yourself:  Only in death do you show the deepest of feeling. Feeling like a sinking ship.
Michael Ryan Sep 2015
Today I bought a square plate
it's not for me, but for an enemy
that I could do worse things to, if I was a less noble person
as the things they've done I will not speak.

The plate is porcelain and quite finely made
elegant and excellently finished for how not so pricey it was
hints of history seems to hide in it's shell--
as seams are weaved into
what has probably lived a long and unused existence
this handcrafted masterpiece.

Separately painted by some fancy artist
to whom I do not recognize the name of,
although it is said he may have done something wrought with his ear
or did this man's uncle make this plate, oh well, I am unsure.

It is these very details to why,
I am now in possession of this piece of the past
that will be priceless to those who know more craftsmanship,
at least more knowledgeable than the man who sold it to me.

From the gleaming in your eyes
I can tell this plate may even mean a great deal to you
is this true my good friend?
oh well, I guess I can give the plate to you
instead of the devil I spoke of before.

*As I handed my prize to them
it began to feel heavier than any ordinary plate should,
gravity granted the greatest reprise I've ever sought
as the demon's face whelmed with depression
and mine satisfaction--
for being such a convincing storyteller.
It's fun, I want to write a poem on other topics, but I feel like people think I write too many of those so I am just having some fun.  (Also I have not found the words for those poems either, hah.)
2.0k · May 2012
The Darkness is Coming
Michael Ryan May 2012
Hollow points break to pieces
memories are liquid gold
time is the jet of life
school the prison
unbound from these links
the reaper looms over the fallen
like polar bears--those released are the new homeless
Chernobyl shall be our name
Alcatraz has abandoned thy past to repeat
A heart as strong as Hank Williams
in the end we are the England Patriots of 2007
but before that sorry night
2012 will be Disney World
This is about high school and how it is ending for me right now.
Michael Ryan Feb 2016
How can you not hate me
even if you don't know who I am
there is a chance that you should
since I am male and
we've been bred in a way
making people say "where the ****"
are my brother's decency.

Because when I speak to them
it's idolizing women
then damning those girls for
having the same ideas as my brothers--
they hurl insults
and call them compliments
telling girls to be objects
treating females as plastic
when they are humans made of blood.

She is not barbie
you do not get to change her clothes
and dress her down to
make yourself feel more like Ken--
her accessories and personality
are not defined by your hands
men can not force
themselves onto women
and tell them they dressed
as a ***-doll does.

I'll be ****** for your
lack of decency, people will treat me
as a "man", but in reality--
those are not men they are devils
trying to stay hidden in the dark
and one day feminism will bring equality
for humans, and then we'll have to
deal with the devils hiding
beneath our skin.
There is need for equality for everyone, and I mean true equality.  Not the pseudo equality most people are looking for.  Men and women are not evil, but some are corrupted by the system we have in place.  We need to revolutionize our ideals and come together.
1.8k · Feb 2013
Twist and Twist
Michael Ryan Feb 2013
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
Something about a girl you know the usual stuff.  As per usual let the expectations continue onto - unlikely to be successful.  Even though it is VERY obvious that she is into me.  I feel like I am breaking down how could I let someone into this mine field.
1.8k · Jan 2015
Pudding
Michael Ryan Jan 2015
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.
This is a much shorter poem, and this about sickness.  My personal sickness of being bulimic and anyone elses' sickness that prevents/hinders them from living their life.   In a way also the strength to do what you need to do.
Michael Ryan Apr 2017
I stand at the forefront
of human existence
and all that stands
is an empty vessel
of idealism
and missed opportunity.

A shallow mass
of pathetic selfishness
instead of selflessness;
a common mistake
of mixing words
that sound eerily too similar.

All the people
that stood here,
may become hardened
or maybe they never stood here at all.

Maybe they sat
at the center of the world
where they never crawled out of,
so they never saw all the beauty
or opportunity
that rested
right above their heads.

These are the burial grounds
for a peaceful existence:
one where equality lies,
still alive,
but buried so deep,
that it hides right outside of thought--
and each person mistakes
helping themselves
for helping the world.
Reading yet another article where prejudice minds keep our doors shut.  We should be building each other up not tearing the world down.
1.7k · Sep 2014
The Smiling Man
Michael Ryan Sep 2014
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
When you think about and wonder and realize just like others you smile and laugh more than most, but on the inside you smile the least and laugh never.
1.7k · Jul 2011
Friendless halls
Michael Ryan Jul 2011
We have walls that you can’t see and we bleed to keep them up

Some of these walls hold our pain back while others hold it in

My wall is a wall that you don’t even think about, obviously

I’ve been told too many times how I’m awesome and funny

Well where are you guys when I need a laugh and a friend

Where are these people that are my “friends”

I guess I have a wall that puts you all away

That makes me standalone even though I give you my soul

I tell you all what’s on the inside, but I still do not see what makes you

I do what I can, I’m involved in many things, but am left in darkness

A personality one of it’s own, one of strength, power,

Will, tranquility, but is left alone to Wallow
1.7k · Jul 2011
Fluorescent Heart
Michael Ryan Jul 2011
A heart that beats true, but it's only for you

A sky is gray, but you light up the day

A heart was kept in a chest, but they feel like it has gone out west

The sky is stagnant, and they fall for you like a magnet

A heart is in the dark, because you left a deadly mark

Like thunder and  lighting, you are just something

The heart is fluorine while you act like chlorine

You soak up the tears "oh, why" and when you come all you say is bye

My heart beats true, but it's NOT only for you
1.7k · Jan 2016
The Washer and Dryer Broke
Michael Ryan Jan 2016
Smells like clean clothes
it's always pleasant
at the laundromat
down the street from
my apartment.

The washer and dryer
are currently broken
looks like some teenager
didn't know what they were doing
as the washer is filled with water
and their clothes remain
inside dwelling to smell
of mildew.

The dryer looks like an antique
because it is the slime green of the 70's
mismatched to it's wifley counterpart
that is stainless steel sparkles
so I assume the dryers death
is not the fault of our fresh water culprit
but electrical problems brought on
from existing forever.

They broke a few months ago
and I've never gone to check
if they were brought back to life
as I've found myself
intoxicated with the laundromat.

It's the mechanical hums
an orchestra of ball barrings
with clothes tumbling
through their fabric softeners
to become fresh gentle cottons
the smell of Hugs
is the aroma of heaven.
Random.  Dreamy.  Life. Pleasant.  Appreciate the small things?
1.5k · Jan 2013
Those Pearly Whites
Michael Ryan Jan 2013
Hey sweet friend of mine
why not wear that smile I love so much
the thing that set our friendship ablaze
it was the definition of harmony
how amazing I thought it was
something about it told me, "Hey she should be your friend"
yes I really did refer to myself third person
that's how SPECIAL your perky smile was that day
to be honest it catches my eye, every time, it's persuaded to attend our day
nothing short of glorious
Crazy, to think that I've never had some days to spend
All this time your smile has lived so far
and as I ponder about the future
and struggle against the current: that I'll never get to see it that much
I'll just visualize those pearly whites, like I am right now
To remember that in these days--you're out there
and that in these days--I should never be "Soft Grunge"
and that maybe just maybe my best-est of friends you'll be here some day soon.
This is about my best friend Pam Galinta.  Maybe this is good, then I will share it with her otherwise.  It'll forever stay with you guys, the lucky few. :D     (Well it was good so it was linked to her; she needs to respond already.) [She likes it]
1.5k · Jan 2014
A heart Shaped Box
Michael Ryan Jan 2014
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.
A poem about our 'box' that I will send to you, Susana Daniela Perez Sanchez
1.4k · Jan 2013
Blind Date
Michael Ryan Jan 2013
I went and saw you Saturday
Never seen your facade before
Time went by fast, we were cute
Both a little fearful of our new acquaintance
Not knowing what to say or do
We shared our beliefs and our food
Things weren't perfect, but the points were in the right place
Yours went up, mine crashed down, ending up even
Meeting once doesn't take much, no expectations
The second time is when you risk it all
The danger comes out to play
Is a stranger worth a second coming
Especially when they're almost out the door
This is one of my hobbies Lena. (To the rest of people who knows if I got the nerve to show or not.)  After thinking about it I didn't like her personality that much.
1.4k · Sep 2012
Rebuild
Michael Ryan Sep 2012
I don't see memories
or predict the future
I can't tell you what has happen or will happen
I see only what is
I see the scars of the world
and ponder what has happened
I see what exist, and the aftermath that it is
I see the rocks erode, and tides hide their knifes
I see ripples across peoples flesh, and the formations made
I do not cringe at the pain, but realize that it has helped us grow
I see buildings, but I don't, because now I see the ruble
I see rocks, but I don't, because I see the rise of a city
I see from the rise of this city the rise of a nation
from this nation the rise of the people
and from the people I see all else I could see before
I see prosperity, devotion, familiarity, and the ambition from before
I see from the rise also the fall
I see the sun come up with the blinding light, and then I look away
because when that beauty falls and the moon shall reign
I will cease to see what I came to know
I will see, but I don't, the scars of any other any more
I will see, but I don't, for the windows have been shut to that world
as my own pain grows so big to bind my eyes closed
as my eyes closed and as my heart was swallowed whole
Pain will lead to insanity, and the need to free myself from it
from the memories I have built I will find myself
and with that found, I will scar myself
to know that I too will rebuild
Your past will build your future--Spoken word poem
1.4k · Apr 2012
Mindless monster.
Michael Ryan Apr 2012
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.
High school what a disappointment it was in the end.  1 month left no turning back it began the same way as it ends only worse.
Michael Ryan Apr 2018
I imagine a therapist office
as they are lavished in on tv shows
and they're not really like that;
instead of a cozy dimly lit office
it's a white wall maze.

As my doctors
are not private ones
and they surely disclose
all about me
to the insurance company.

I can't help, but twiddle my thumbs
and wonder about the
cries for help
that linger on these paisley painted
dry walls--
snickered with inpersonal
portraits of strangers;
that probably wish
they hung in one of those
elegant, brash, and luxurious offices on tv.

Or maybe instead
the paintings longingly wish
to be dead as well--
instead of being
in this subservient storehouse
that is standing in for an therapist office.

Getting up from another stand-in
this rash beast of dull coloured dust;
calling it a chair would insinuate people
are supposed to sit there,
but I assume
it's true purpose is for the ill-ful
to find something uglier than life itself.  

Leaving through another betrayal
that existence couldn't be more lame
is a doorway with the most faux of all possible doors;
it's screaming "nobody ever cut down a tree to make this".

Slipping past another door (eye role)
I come to be in the same room,
but this space is two faultering steps to the left.  
And instead of dust everywhere
it's a mobbish moss melancholy
that distastefully lingers
in my personal office's air.
Giving help, but needing help.  Can you receive help if you already know what they will say.
1.4k · Jun 2014
Devils Disguised as Monsters
Michael Ryan Jun 2014
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.
people make mistakes understand that and just talk to them instead of pushing into the ground.
1.4k · May 2016
Waiter Waiter
Michael Ryan May 2016
Understanding
is something
that comes from
the daunting
reminder
that we are all the same

and it's not happiness
but the disheveled,
underpaid,
antagonizing
waiter
who launders around tables.

Being treated poorly
by people
that can't even
take the hands of time
to read the name
of a person that serves them life

the succulent roasted pork
with a side salad
or a bowl of broccoli soup
have more in common with
our suffering waiter
than the illiterate people.
What's their name?
1.4k · Jul 2013
I Don't Know you Yet
Michael Ryan Jul 2013
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.
This is how I think friends should be made, this is how I try to make friends.  People are too afraid in my world, to accept that with hello I mean lets be friends.  Because if they could accept that then I think we'd both be happier.  (That maybe I wouldn't be so alone.)
1.3k · Jul 2011
Cannibal(s)
Michael Ryan Jul 2011
See beyond the struggle is Hannibal

eating the face of identity and smoldering the heart

the repetition of bewildering sequels

names that don't match and feelings that can't compare

the original is the peak of a syndicate to steal

where the prequel is death

being left to, cult film destitution.
Life repeats some repeats are good while some are the end.
Michael Ryan Oct 2013
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.
I wrote this for my friend Susana Daniela ----(forgot)----- hope you enjoyed your poem and not suddenly "die" [decide to never talk to me again.]  Yes I mean my words very much.
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