Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
A mayonnaise man
Tells me
I need to spice up my life.

He can see the boredom in my eyes.
He thinks
Something new
Will awake me from my slumber.
But he does not know
I wish to kiss thunder.
I want to feel my atoms burning.
I want to be crushed by the gravity
Of some distant planet.

"I think I'm going to take up writing." I tell him.

He smiles and says, "Yeah you should write a book or something."
He walks off.

And I am his hope-
This mayonnaise man
With all his plans
And systems
And routines.

He sees the chaos in my eyes
And knows,
Even that isn't good enough for me.

I won't let you down.
Michael Angelo Dec 2019
I
Am just
A whisper in the wind-
A gentle reminder of
A dying love.
Above our skyscraper egos
Are worlds still unknown.
Ask for entrance
And you will be shut out forever.
All you have to do is listen;
Audible ghosts scream to us from
Beyond the cosmos.
Bifurcated banshees (our ancestors)
Beg to become whole within us.
Between you and I,
Civilization has reached its peak.
Countless eons of evolution have
Cultivated us writing, madly scrawling
Ciphers to make sense of nonsensical

Existence.
But
I,
Am just a whisper in the wind.
Slowly losing my ability to continue on.
It's all up to you now.
Michael Angelo Oct 2019
Scrolling through newsfeed
I read
Emmitt Till's historical marker
Had to be made bulletproof
and weigh 500 lbs so as to not be removed.
In some states,
Courts fight for Confederate statues
To stand tall.
There's a tragedy somewhere in it all
I'm sure,
But I don't know what to do about it.
Michael Angelo Oct 2019
I have California dreams,
But also
Texas sensibilities.
Michael Angelo Sep 2019
Hopelesseley lost,
In a weak daze
From inconsequential week days
That have no bearing on a future I am not promised.
I pretend to be-
I pretend I am
Alive,
But if I could behave eternally,
Nobody would ever know of me.
Michael Angelo Aug 2019
It is difficult to feel yourself burning when your hands have always been too close to the flames
Michael Angelo Aug 2019
Ecclesiastes speaks my soul.
All that I know
Had already been known.
What purpose is my toil
If I am destined to return to soil
And give rise to another who is the same as me?
Wisdom brings no peace-
Ignorance, no clarity;
Where then does felicity reside?
Oh! The irony of curiosity
Knowing **** well
It brings only more strife...
Why God
WHY
is life?
Next page