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Jared San Miguel Mar 2019
I am blind folded.
Walking down a path I have never seen.

Each step reassured by
the voices that tell me the road is clear.

No pitfalls, no obstacles
no trespasses, no traps.

And so, convinced by these noises,
stirring in my head

I continue to step
ever forward into the black.

are you okay? is a question
whose answer is not dictated by me.

The answer is always
at this exact moment it would seem so.

For this instant, ever fleeting
solid ground appears to be where I stand.

The infinite amount of time
in between those instants

are another story
that I am unable to tell.
Jared San Miguel Nov 2018
Fight your demons.

Raze and burn.

Salt the earth.
Foul the water.
Set the fields ablaze.
Cave the roads and bridges.

Give no quarter,
show no mercy.
This is not an adversary of ration.
This is not a passing wind.

Destroy what feeds them.
Lay traps in the shelters.
Let the last strain perish
as they beg for shade from the sun.

They call for blood
so answer with their own.
Their teeth rasp at bone
so dull them with iron will.

You will not be silenced.
Deafen them with the weight
of your words like the cosmos
pressing on an insect not worth your time.

Their claws will hack
at your shins to loose your footing.
But they have cut one too many times
to be allowed tolerance from your momentum.

Wind you carry behind you
will strip their eyes from their sockets.
You have stepped forward too many times
for them to stop you now.

Every sun risen and set
is another shadow banished.
The numbers continue to swing
in your favor as they fall.

So fell them like poisoned forests.
Ashes rise to the sky.
Speckles piercing the nightly veil
that count your glory.

The whole 9 yards are a million.
The crest of the hill is high.
The last leg is long.
But it is not beyond you.

Jared San Miguel Jul 2018
It's not sadness
or hate,
or regret.

It's empty;
closing your
hand around
something gone.

Empty doesn't
have a remedy;
everything falls
but doesn't land.

A migrane
whose temples
you can even
rub in futility.

Pain in phantom,
sourced from
a limb severed
out of foolishness.
Jared San Miguel Oct 2016
EVERYONE! Last February I took part in a gathering of visual, musical, and written artists with a wonderful collective called Err. This Twin Cities based collective gathers artists from all over and puts on shows showcasing every person in one night.

Over the past two years they have showcased 100 artists and now we, all together, are publishing an anthology of our work. Each artist has submitted one piece to be included in the book but now we need your help to make it a reality. We have started a campaign on Kickstarter to get our project off the ground.

We are at the half way point but we still need help. Everyone on this site has been amazingly supportive of my work and if you are at all able; anything you can give is beyond immensely appreciated.

Please check out our campaign page and, if you are moved by our efforts, consider donating.
Jared San Miguel Jan 2016
Like water you beat
and you crashed
hoping to hollow me
and that I'd finally relent.

You wanted a cave.
Empty for you to fill,
although still holding
some structure to protect.

But you did not seem
to understand at all.
Or at least
you failed to notice.

My walls collapsed too
down down, and crumble
instead of a shelter
you only got sand.

But sand, sand is a beach
and a beach is not so bad.
You come and wash upon me
still influenced me like you meant.

However again you did not notice,
or at least did not seem to care.
Even sand wears thin
even sand grows tired.

You bashed and battered
hoping I would see.
But now everything is
under your sight line.

You would not hear
your own ferocity
and you could not hear
me over the roar of waves.

And so we are quite now
all my bonds shattered
and nothing left
for you to crash against.
Jared San Miguel Jan 2016
There's something about wearing your PJs out to see the same eyes
that the night before saw orchestrated looks.
Tussled messes are shared upon our heads.
You braid the strands a few times and I try to make my hand a sufficient comb.

Coffee sipped on lips still tasting
of ***** and rolls of tobacco.
Sun drank on sleepy eyes.
Drizzle consumed on skin still smokey from the fire.

All the same, from cuffed sleeves and cologne.
All the same, from winged eyes and that skirt you wear so well.
The smiles, laughs, and embraces.
The sighs, support, and reassurings ring the same.

There's something about how we look.
How we look at each other the morning after,
That speaks louder than the shots and lyrics
we mouth so enthusiastically.

We stepped out of that skin
but we are still met
"There you are!"
and never "Where did 'that' you go?"
Jared San Miguel May 2015
I want to be deep in the woods
and lay you down in the greenest depths
that hold quiet for now.
But soon calls, cries, and roars
will determine this territory ours.

The forest is not an easy place
for the mere humans we are in this instant
to establish. But our fervor is unmatched.
Crushed leaves and shattered limbs
speak testament to our deeds.

The clouds close the sky
but neither lightning or thunder
dare approach us here
for how could simple light and noise
hope to stand against this force of nature.

Rain pours from unreachable heights
as if it were to quench the heat;
as if it fears for the trees and soil.
We will not be abated yet
our geminated critical mass, relentless.

In the end the skies have had enough
and the earth is cool again.
Stars on your sighing released skin
and the moonlight plays on mine.
Deep in the forest green, the outside world unseen.
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