Merry Christmas, but this is still not a Christmas gift
This is yet another appreciation of you, Janet
I'm still sorry that I can't make you anything other than this
I'm sorry that it's been a year now since I've seen you
It's even more sad now that all I've given you is my words
Even though it's been a year you still mean so much to me
You never really know much you effect someone, until time has gone
This year I didn't make as many friends, but I made some
Mostly everyone I met
Put into perspective how unique you really are
Now that this year is ending there is fewer people I wish I had seen
There's only one person I am writing a poem for right now
Only one person that I want tell how much they matter
I only want one person to know
How important they are before the year ends
Once again believe me I am not building up to say some other person
JANET you are the one person that  Iwant to know how special they are
The 1 and only person I think deserves some words
My very being shudders thinking how long it's been
Knowing that I have not seen you for one year
I haven't been there to hold you up for so many days, months, a year
I've missed all your wild and crazy thoughts, all your personality.
I haven't been able to be a real friend
Even one year later you still stand true as one of the best I've ever met
Maybe memories fade with time and so do the people we know
Maybe you have forgotten me after all this time.
Maybe this is much more awkward for you
As you have met many more wonderful people since last year
That does not bother me as you are still a shining moment in my mind
Two people that had little time for all the great memories we have
No matter 1 year or 50, I will always know Janet Kung
We will always have our moments together
The enjoyable experiences of the past
Our luxurious time that can never be gone
The end: I've missed you Janet
Love, Michael.

One day back
Is 7 days in the world
Did I ever leave this realm, called a dorm
Never feels like I can traverse this gap
Time well spent, en-caged
Deciding to go talk, nothing wrong with that
Talking can't be a sign of defeat!
Finding a way to build a bridge
Use these connections to find that opening
Let the wind whisper, through these bars
The breeze will grant, a peaceful slumber.
Can I regress?
seven days in the real world
is 1 pleasant day being back.

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

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 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.

The Tides Sweep
Away the Dreams
Reality Wanes
Sand weeps as
the land seeps
Always in motion
obviously, Ocean

I rasp my mind around these thoughts.
Weeping willows wallow in self doubt.
Finding one's own grievances to mask others charades.
I bring my hand to the face of a believer.
Just happens to be my own;
quickly, I realize that mine is masked by tears and a frown.
Tirelessly gripping my imprisonment.
Unable to remove what has been given to me.
Mistaken as I am.
The mask goes deeper than my core,
could I possibly of built this face for myself?

Can I tell you how I truly feel?
Sorry miss I would like to tell you.
That's the one thing in life I can't let you, the world know.
My eyes strain to keep my secrets,
and my body begins to tense.
Your eyes seem so bright so glossy and true blue;
your body seems so smooth that the wrinkles of life come undone.
Perfection is the example used to show what others need to do.
While someone goes to after hours on how to improve.
Taking up the time of the universe,
slowly suffocating the world of it's own oxygen,
striking down each tree with their simplicity.
Take an idea and run with it.
My eyes strain to keep my secrets;
I tell them to shush, and praise them to keep them quiet.
My body begins to tense and I squeeze it to keep it together.
Your eyes, I don't want to waste your time.
Your body should belong somewhere else.
you're the example I praise,
while I try to hang my own hat.

I fear understanding
you can't understand me
that's fine
No, one can
I'm just a jumble mess of a fruit salad
and you wonder what each piece is
is that watermelon?
nope that's a very strange strawberry, I think some one took a bite and put it back in
Does that not make sense?  I hope so I tried to make sense
but if I just let myself go and talk and talk and talk
well it's hard to think, hmm will you understand these words of mine?
or are you just smiling and agreeing to be nice(even though I think that's pretty rude of you)
Open and understanding of the things around me, it's hard to know what to do
what is the right thing for me to do
There's people out there smoking all sorts of things
There's people studying all the things they want to know
people becoming drug dealers, people becoming doctors
Hmm, can't I just be Michael?
Yup, I think that's the one for me
You'll just write a poem instead of doing either of those things
it's easier that way
become successful? naw bro, I"ll just become a poet
and when I become old and gray and eventually pass away
many years after that fateful departure
I will become the most famous out of all these people
All of them, just because I chose to write and write and write
random things, that when I'm no longer there to explain what they mean
people will be able to ponder, hmm I think this one is about a dragon(none of my poems are about dragons, although maybe I'll write one now)
People will get all my writings wrong wrong and more wrong
the longer I am dead the more mysterious my writing will be become
My fragmented words will begin to mean new things
and further off the trail those people will be
and more a genius they will think I am, even though they will have just read a poem about a dragon.

I'm about to set out to my advent, college
For the second time in another year
I will leave them all behind
Now does it feel the same
I could not tell you so,
Now does it feel not the same
I wish I could tell you that
but honestly I don't know
All I know is that I'm leaving
and that I hope for the best
That my time will be worth the restlessness
hopefully I will not digress
that my time will progress
just like my simple self my river never lets go
as I steadily ground myself and dig deeper into the mountain side
my family knows these tides, will they be as rough
I doubt it, they become at ease, with my leave
while from land they may not see
but my boat has leaks
no one knows, but I may drown out at sea

Bring me home
the place where I have escaped from
is it not quite funny, that I will open my arms to jail
embracing the qualms of prison
accepting that in-equivalently freedom is overrated
silently I myself will shackle this life
swallow my breath and strangle identity
depravity will bring awareness
spurring life is the spontaneity

War torn world
A battlefield that tears us from the soul
While we wander the wasteland we were only unlucky people
Consciously stepping through the uneven lands
Some new world never known to exist before
Crept ever so slowly wondering when it will come
The war was never one that you thought it would be
Possibly it was first thought that you would win
Simply seeking the way out of all the misery
Clinging onto the hope that it would be like you thought
Sadly the battle never turns
Never do the tides turn from the murky reds
Forever the land will bleed
Being stained with the wounds of hate and disgust
Those small moments of where the war does not shine through
Are the false moments of hope that victory may come near
Blindly ignoring the booms and blast echoing behind all the smoke
We both solemnly prayed for it all to end
Then one day it did
No one won
Only Defeat

Reality is a troublesome topic to persuade.
Subtly tiptoe the tropes of life and death.
Black Swan tips the scales of good and bad.
Light and Dark.
Misanthropy, how can we not.
The good die young.
  Is all we've ever heard.
Beauty dies fast.
One glance of beauty.
An ever long war.
The greatest and the best only strive for success.
Not the redemption or aptitude that they test.
Many bring emotion,
but folly the ends.
Greatness dies.
And only reprized in final a glance.
Unrecognized do we part.
Our being sold wrought.
Once escape is our parting phrase.
Stodgily will our image fade.

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.

They Call me the Ocean.
Maybe to people that means how large of a man I may be.
Or they are confused by my physical form,
because I don't look like an Ocean.
But believe me I am the ocean,
and you are the ******* puddle.
On the ground outside right now.
You only last for a few hours, even if that.
Your depth is not one that can equal the ocean.
We can explore all your insides within one second.
I can take one step and be all the way through you already.
To make you it takes one single rain cloud.
To make me, you can't replace this.
No matter how many rain clouds there are in world.
You can't remake this for the entirety of our existence.
Yes there may be other oceans in the world, but I am part of them.
There is only 4 oceans, but we can't count how many puddles there are.
The only thing within you can be shown on the surface.
You merely reflect the little world around.
But if you were to look at me.
You would see the reflection of the whole entire sky line.
See that's where everything stops with you.
The mere reflection of what's around you.
But with me.
Everything isn't taken so literally.
That within every little drop is a part of the ocean.
The deeper you dive the easier it is to tell what's different.
With a puddle you need not explore, but simply walk by.
But the ocean, you can never find it all.
You can only find so much.
People have tried since the beginning of time.
They only know that I am deep.
They don't know what's all within me,
and maybe they never will...

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.

Grasping for straws and always heaving for some air.
When swimming in the ocean you never forget that you are swimming.
You keep on kicking and paddling without ever thinking of it;
no one whispers in your ear, "hey buddy you gotta keep going."
And that's how most of life is handled.  You just do it.
But if you think you don't want to swim anymore,
then it becomes something much more difficult.
Having to whisper lies and secrets into your own ear may keep you clear,
but every battle will be a struggle, and no side will win like they used to.
The end will be the end of most real wars neither side knowing if they won.
Both sides wishing that it never happened in the first place.
Dreaming of a place of where you both stood in the beginning.
one day you'll come to a conclusion of whether you have been defeated, or you have been defeated.
No one else will ever be able to tell you otherwise except for your other self.
When your blood soaked insides finally decide they feel too much.
When feelings turn into mush and not even a touch can bring a rush.
You'll either have to lie to yourself one more time or ask yourself the question.
Do you feel like swimming anymore?

Dream of dreams
But never dream of life
Do not put faith into the life you want
Do not put life on this pedestal of hope
Please do not dream of life
Please dream of dreams
Dream of the things that do not exist
Give me creativity and express with colors never seen
Light that never existed
Because when you dream of life
You will not be living
You will be dying
Just like me.  You will not be living
Dreams only lead to despair
So I beg you, please dream of something better than life
Grant yourself that gift.  
The greatest gift you could ever aspire to
Something better than this life.
A Dream of dreams

I wish we could write life in pencil
maybe my life is the white board of life
Can I please at least be a chalk board
maybe they don't erase the things that rub off on them perfectly
but at least they get to rub something off
I am more like a tar pit of a life
Where the things that touch my life will forever stick to me
You see the monsters that have come and died, leaving their remnants here to rot
Why Can't I Etch a Sketch myself a new beginning
I was sick two weeks ago; went to this terrible place of pins and hell
Then I realized the pain in my body
was nothing compared to the pain in my soul
I wished for the pain to come and eat my body whole
Today I feel that pain again, maybe this time it comes forever
then my soul can be put to rest
and Etch A Sketch itself into a different reality