When I heard about it I was hurt, saddened, mortified.
I couldn't believe someone I remembered to be so full of life had died.
I remember playing D&D; for hours at a time.
I remember our characters always doing something out of line.
I remember your brother (as our DM) playing a little frog to help us get back on track.
I remember stealing only pens and that same little frog eraser at walmart, just to have security stop us outside and ask me for the nail polish back.
I remember our photo shoot, and the picture of us standing back to back.
And the one that looked like you were staring at my shirt, we all had a big laugh about that.
I remember when you and I became close, and were together almost everyday.
I remember how reckless we were, but wasn't that always our way?
I remember karaoke nights, going clubbing, parties at Casey's, and trips to Niagara Falls.
I remember through everything what a good friend you were to me, I remember that most of all.
I love you and miss you Jon.
I will always remember you.

~Christi Michaels~September 2014~

We are not symbiotic any more
I lay in our soft warm bed
I slumber to your snore
Our heart's and minds have drifted
To other continents shores

We walk in two dimensions
Though parallel they may seem
Find it so very difficult
Imaging the way we used to be

This is such a simple tale
Of love thats gone amiss.
The problem here
The difficult reality
Is what to do with This.


Copyright © 2015 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved.

I never think much about the fact that I am black.
I know I am black.
Like I know I am a girl,
Like I know I am an American,
Like I know I am nineteen.
It is a fact; I am black.

I hate when people say I am not.
My parents are black.
Their parents are black.
We are black.
Look at my skin,
It's dark and it's beautiful.
How could I not be black?
I am black.

I hate when people say I don't 'act' black.
How does one act to be considered black?
How am I acting? How is it not black?
Look at my skin,
It's dark and it's beautiful.
How could I not act black?
I am black.

I hate when people say I speak like a white person.
A way of speaking is not exclusive to race.
I am not white.
I do not speak like a white person.
My words are coming out of my black mouth.
I speak properly,
The way my black parents raised me to.
Look at my skin,
Its dark and it's beautiful.
How could I not speak black?
I am black.

I HATE when people say I am a white person trapped in a black body.
I have NEVER heard anything more insulting.
I am NOT trapped.
This color is NOT a cell.
I wear it proudly.
Look at MY skin,
It is DARK and it is BEAUTIFUL!
How could I ever be trapped?
I am black.

I am in no way white,
Nor do I ever want to be.
I am black
And black is beautiful

When I am without her, the sun doesn't shine as brightly.
When I am without her, the clouds are dark and foreboding.
When I am without her, the birds don't sing as sweetly.
When I am without her, the walls close in on me.
When I am without her, in the depths of my hell, whispering her name sustains me.
But, when I am with her, she lifts me up.
When I am with her, I have the strength to move mountains.
When I am with her, I can withstand anything.
When I am with her, her smile warms my very soul.
When I am with her, the angels sing her name.
When I am with her, I fall in love all over again.

Steps to taking the easy way out

1. Take the bullets out of the gun. Leaving your family is harder than one thinks.

2. Love your self. For some days the hate will have ****** dammed into your sub conscious, convincing you of your futile existence.

3. When hanging yourself, forget how to tie knots. Loosen your pain. Use the rope to anchor yourself, stand your ground.

4. Repeat steps 1-3. These situations will occur again. Don't be afraid to memorize your worth.

5. Keep the medicine cabinet closed. There are demons behind those double doors that want to dissect you.

6. Breathe.

7. Stop running. This isn't a marathon.

8. Take the bullets back out of the gun, you are not in season and so refuse target practice.

9. Breathe in. Breathe out. Repeat step 9 until enlightenment occurs.

To write food in the stomach
Of every hungry child.

To spell war as peace,
Metaphorize flowers into the barrel

Of every gun on Earth.
The poet has responsibilities

Beyond those of mothers,
Of kings and presidents.

I refuse to give up hope;  
This could be a poem world.

Come on, write your worst piece
Of literature.

Even misprints may give other
Meanings to a word,

Write me a green sky, blue dirt,
Trees the colour of air.

Sometimes the best poets
Have the least to say,

So keep writing, write until your
Fingers fall asleep.

Write until you havent slept
For weeks in search of that word,

That one right word,
Then rest on a notebook pillow

And dream the world right.
Write the world right.

There is no such thing as
Wasted poetry.