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mickaela Sep 2016
After sipping the wine of ******
Numb to the vigour of the liquor
I wandered drunk among the living
The moon watching with her deadened stare

I saw the black waters washing the pale
Grainy flesh of the beach
And wondered,oh, wandering  close
To the darkness, wondered
Then decided, with melancholy deeper
Than fear, walked forward
And yielded to the water’s seize

Over me(and within me), the days had washed
Dragged my remains along
And slipped, the gory water had
Into my garments and flesh and being
And splashing still within my soul
Like the pure blood of innocent hearts

Pumping sounds in eager necks
Warm to my caress, cold to my tongue

I awoke on the shore
And wept , as even the pitiless waves
With its vengeful force and vigour
Rejects me

Oh, true death, I have known life
To be nothing but watered-down death
Give me the strength of thy inevitability
And take my eternity

Thy bitter kiss
Is kiss nevertheless


Oh, true death, I implore thee not
In vain or melancholy
But, oh, desperation.

Murderer!Murderer!
The people have cried.
None cared for my own ******, my own death
A curse! A curse!
To live this life
While dead.
Poor Vampire
Thanks for reading<3
mickaela Nov 2019
A reader comes upon a Poem,

their interest already Piqued.

It may be a seldom Pleasure,

or their millionth Poem this week.

But regardless of their Past,

Present or future reading,

the reader will note a Pattern

and seek the promised meaning.





... Previous verse was false?

Perhaps it rings true now,

for the reader cannot Pass off

the constant rhythmic Pow.

As it flows into first Person,

I Pray your interest stays,

for you might find a Pleasant answer

and go about your day.





On your second Poem reading,

(for I've Predicted your return),

your smile is far Prettier

than I could Possibly discern.

And why is that, you Ponder?

The title Provides an answer.

But if you never read this Part,

then you will have to read much further.





Each word is perfectly Placed

for the Purpose of the end.

8 lines in every Piece

save the Puzzle's final 10.

So Press on, my dear reader;

may your Patience never fail.

Whether Pages or real life,

you will certainly Prevail.





Many will get to this Point,

and many... Perhaps not

But you, my dear Pilgrim,

are the Prudent of the lot.

You never bought my Ps

with a cent from your Purse,

for you know the answer is

the first letter of each verse!

(And now, since it's the end,

you will gladly read again. )
Thanks for reading <3
mickaela Sep 2016
Consulting with my Sculptor
I critiqued His use of clay
To create my well carved features
In such a careful way:

My eyes are held in hollowed
Holes of hardened clay
Though the hue be not hallowed
They’re heavenly all the same.

This nose be a beautiful bridge
Baked by bronze- brown clay
Unbroken by blows for blood
Breeze brings sweet bouquets

Mighty words are measured
From a mouth made of clay
I mix at my leisure
My mouth is untamed

While my hips are not the widest
Of Wonders won with clay
While my waist is not the finest
Wand whittled for display

My frame is  flawless and free
Formed by flowing clay
Flimsy words find their way to me
And fall on futile way

As I am an amazing art piece
And I am allowed to say
I acknowledge that my Artist
Has a way with clay
I accidentally posted a poem, which I was worried would be too offending and dumb. I'm a little embarrassed, heh heh. Even though only 5 people saw it. But that's a lot, on hellopoetry.
So, to redeem myself, I'm posting this poem of self love and acceptance. I wish I could feel like the persona, you know? Writing it, I did feel a little body positive for my own self, but the feeling didn't linger.Oh well, hope you like it!
Oh, and thanks for reading <3
mickaela Sep 2016
i was afraid
i don’t know why i was
it wasn’t like
i was going to die
with your gun
in my mouth

but you
you should be scared for your life

*** scented voice
slurring along my neck

i was afraid of you
God, i was so scared
even when you were gone
my soul wouldn’t come back

she was trembling in His arms
begging for everything she had already
because she wasn’t ready to lose it all

you were fearless
in front of me
i was just a pretty little girl

tv makes you look so cool
yielding your scythe like a gun
like a badge on your soul
so proud of it

ready to reap and ****
and crunch lives in your disgusting mouth
slurring along my neck
you weren’t even trembling

i wasn’t gonna die
you can’t **** me

but i can **** you
just pull your trigger
go ahead, feel free
and see who it shoots

you gave a command
to tie me up
save me for later

i slipped out
out your grasp

or did you slip
out of mine
out of His?

but you can’t get away
you’ll never get away
with it, with this
with everything you ever did

*are you scared?
just something to get some anger out of me
mickaela Sep 2016
Dawn breaks through clouds of black
To find our waters blue
Look up, my child, and feel the light
Blessed, shining on you

The tears of monsters up above
Grant our waters life eternal

The moon shall slumber in sheets of black
The stars shall giggle and sing
Quiet songs with dancing tunes
Like little happy kings

And you my dear, a princess true
Your own stars sing so beautifully
Let them shine when times are dim
And a light is needed to see
Your eyes alone are little suns
Your dawns too brilliant for me

And a million stars within your heart
Will burn under this sea

The shadow of light may seem darker
Than the worst of heartaches true
But there are linings in the clouds
And the shadow looks like you

So let your light shine like the star of our days
And may the moon rest
I imagine that a mermaid would both be fascinated and fearful of the surface world. A huge ball of fire is basically just sitting in the air. Then there's a huge white disc like thing that comes when the ball of fire is gone. Then there are some huge white fluffy looking stuff, moving on a thing that looks like the sea. Then there are harpies roaming the skies, giving the air a bad reputation.  
I hope this poem isn't too confusing, since I wrote it for my own story for an entirely weirder purpose (mermaids don't even exist in the world ). Well, I hope you like it. Thanks for reading <3
mickaela Oct 2016
Haggard heavens,
pale white in their dormancy,
weary wind,
sweeping through the trees,
sleeping sun,
warm in her blanket of clouds.

Over the waiting earth,
the storm watches with a single eye,
a cold Cyclops.

Dank darkness,
bathes the waiting world,
the still static of cheap radios,
adds to the deafening silence,
short candles sit, covered,
in their own hot wax.

At the end
of their
dormancy,
the heavens shriek, their sharp tears,
tearing through the air, clashing with the ground,
cold bullets shooting the world,
white flashes
jagged white swords slashing through the horizon,
stabbing the wet earth,
the heavens groan,
sonorous rumbles,
as if they’re stabbing themselves.

Howling screams of vicious gale,
as it tears the world apart,
ripping through trees,crashing them to the ground,
flinging the world around in whirling anger.

The world sits, huddled
whispered prayers fighting through the air
to reach the heavens
and pass the storm along the way.

Now
finally
satisfied,
the cyclops moves on
a warrior wandering to
his next country
still strong
with its pale skin,
bleeding rain to wash away
the remaining carcasses
I had a really huge author's block sitting on my brain for weeks. Then, Matthew came along. I eventually decided to write about a hurricane experience.

Fortunately, Matthew mostly ignored us. Rain would start suddenly and stop almost immediately, but still leave behind floods. Imagine how the complete hurricane would've been. Thank God it didn't bother us.

Well, thanks for reading <3
mickaela Sep 2016
I know there are others,
                                                         ­                                                        Like me
                         They are there, searching for each other (and themselves),
                                                    ­                                                            Like me
                                                      I know they are slowly learning the truth
                                                           ­      That, like me, they are not like you

                                                            ­                                                          You
   ­                                                                 ­                            Are you like me?
                                                             ­                    Maybe not, or maybe yes
                                                Maybe, you’d like me, because I am like you

                                                            ­                          But perhaps you aren’t
                                                          ­                       Maybe, you aren’t like me
                                                              ­                     And that’s okay too, you

                                                            ­                                 You are not like me
                                                              ­                     And you are everywhere
                                                    An­d its just like me, to want to be like you

                                                            ­                        You want to be different
                                                       ­                       Unlike me, I want the norm
                                                            ­                    I want to be common...but

                                                   ­        If you were like me and I was like you
                                                  You’d want to be me and I’d want to be you

And, like you, I’d be connected
With the world, related
I’d be like you, associated
With the world, correlated

Like you...I want to be “different”
No,weird.....”Unique”?
Like you, I’d want to be “special”
But isn’t that just odd?

                                                      You know what
                                                        Let’­s just stop
                                                        Tiri­ng, isn’t it
                                                      Confusin­g, silly
                                             Foolish, completely idiotic

                                                    Midw­ay, Let’s end
                                                         Let’s just be
                                                        You and me
I have been on both sides of the spectrum-too weird and too normal. When I felt out of place, I wanted to be normal. By normal, I don't mean boring or whatever. No one is really boring, after all. I mean...you know, normal. Normal?
I know, I don't know what that is either. After I became what I thought was normal, I did feel dull and boring.And it was tiring, pretending to be someone I'm not.

The wise voice in my head told me that I was being stupid and that normal doesn't exist and that everyone is weird and blah blah blah. That voice is probably right. But no matter what, I'll always want to fit in. I don't even want to be 'normal' anymore. Just accepted.

Thanks for reading<3
mickaela Sep 2016
Cradled,
in the warm comfort of her love,
her baby smiles.

She smiles too
and something under her heart's stony grave
shifts.

Precious,
yet more priceless than her own life,
she'd sacrifice everything.

For this child
is now everything to her
eyes

"He looks like his daddy"
Those ugly words.
Symbols of a hated life.
Hated by her mother.
And her too.


She'll live it for her baby.
She'd go to hell for her baby.
She wants heaven for her baby.


"He looks like his daddy"
Ugly, ugly words.
Nothing but bitter, rotten,

lies.

Precious,
she smiles at the world in her hands,
in her arms,
She never had something so good before.
So ugly, like his daddy.


She turns from the eyes.
His eyes.
So harsh on her shivering, sweaty skin.
******* her to the bone.
That smile.
Drool dripping from the lips.
Of that chasm of knives
And lies.


"Yes, daddy loves you"

A dog on her body.
Invading her system.
Her skeleton tied.
To his bed.
And her life.


"He looks like his daddy".
His daddy, her daddy.
Her son, his son, her brother.
His mother, her mother, his life, her life, his smile his smile his smile.
His smile.

Not his smile.

Precious. Priceless. Her world. Her life.
Not him.
Never him.

She smiles.
I watched 'Precious' for the first time a while back. That is all.
Wait, no, not all. For all the precious girls out there, I want you to know that you are called precious, beautiful and important for a reason. Never forget.
Thanks for reading <3
mickaela Sep 2016
wish i could feel something
wish i could see
what other's are seeing
wish i could listen
to the thing in my chest
wish i could taste
the food i wanted a few minutes ago
wish i could smell
the burning in my head

its a warning
of something worse
why don’t i care?

it feels like a lie
“i don’t care”
it feels like i’ve uttered
the unutterable
i've thought
the unthinkable
done the unforgivable

i don’t know when i killed myself
it must have happened long ago
when i wasn’t even paying attention

too busy laughing at things that aren’t funny
forcing myself to cry
when i'm alone because thats what everyone
who fakes a smile does.

and im not even sad
because the dead don’t feel pain

God this world is beautiful
those clouds weren’t made
for evil things like me

i don’t deserve the beauty i can’t appreciate
but i don’t want anything else

and i feel trapped here
because i don’t want to die
just to switch prisons

you’re crying hard
and i don’t feel a thing

you’re beautiful
and i’m not even jealous

and you’re laughing
and i just give up and stare at you
and you ask what’s wrong
“nothing” i say

and i’m not lying.
thanks for reading
mickaela Sep 2016
From the darkness, thou departed
A crimson chasm of sorrow
Thy tears, a reflection
Of thy mother's misery

I was born with thee
My mother, light
My sorrow, pleasure
Yet, the sun shines on thee

Surely, thou can see
Me, though shrouded in darkness

No, not me
Thou
Can thou see thee
As well you cannot see me?

For though dark, though thine opposite
I was born in light
And light reveals me

But thou
'
The darkness is thy home

Yet, thou looks down on me
Indifference in thy stare
Thou used to fear me
Now I am hardly here

But I am here
Waiting
The light shall reveal me
But I am gone
When thy darkness comes

I t   i s  t o o  m u c h  f o r  m e
Experimenting with Old English. Please point any error I need the criticism for real.
mickaela Sep 2016
The spark you said you saw
(Within me)
Is smothered, smudged and smeared
On your sheets
The sheer shadows are shaded
And I bleed
Bitter black, bleak
Ink

The spark you saw has swam
In their sea
Of sweet, swollen, stolen
Beauty
(Their art is all I hope mine to be)
Brave, Beautiful, Brilliant

Ink

If my spark could be
A raging flame
If my flame could be
Beautiful pain
You’d read my dread
And understand
The sparks (Infernos)
in my head

Sprouting from my hands
When I wrote this poem, I was feeling very inadequate. No matter what talent you have, there seems to always be someone who is better than you at it. Despite the suggestion of writing in the poem, I wrote this with drawing in mind. I always inevitably fall into jealousy whenever I see an artpiece that I prefer over mine. Why can't I draw like that? HOW did they do this? Will I ever draw like this?
Then the wise one within me speaks a little louder:
"Maybe. Maybe not. Who cares? Why do I want to have someone else's style anyway? Why should I envy anyone? Why bitter jealousy, and not admiration? Why inadequacy, and not inspiration? And I KNOW that those same persons have felt inadequate before."

Thanks for reading <3
mickaela Oct 2016
This is my sanctuary
a sylvan of serenity
(soothing my sanity)
my stellar solace of sanctity

my strange & soaring Fantasies
superior to Realities
(with all its sick Enormities)
I’d stay asleep for Eternities

Stray from society
with a sudden spontaneity  
To the sweet sensuality
Of a night’s serendipity
This poem was difficult to write, but also rather fun! I wonder how it would sound from someone with a lisp...?

Thanks for reading! <3
mickaela Jun 2017
you see those numbers
big and ugly, on crumpled paper
and you feel them on your skin
like a stain on yourself, on
who you are, who you'll ever be

shame

it wraps its hot hands around you
its whispers harsh and sharp
in your ear:
"stupid. stupid. stupid"
your new heart beat, pumping
hot blood around your body
burning you on the inside
and you scream,
desperately wanting
to come out and be
someone else, someone smart
someone that just isn't you

you failed. this is it. you're done.
they were right about you.
you're just a stupid, ugly,
worthless. hopeless...

....Beautiful, brilliant
wonderful girl.
Your daughter looks away,
burning with embarrassment.
"You'll do well", you say,
"Just try your best.
And even if you don't
do as well as you'd like,
you'll still be my smart little girl"
"Thank you" she says, and disappears again
into her room, to study
You sigh, hope, pray, beg
That she believed you

More than you ever believed yourself
Pheeeew. My first poem in ages. I missed poetry, I swear. As soon as exams were over (literally on my last day) I went on Hello Poetry. Hope you like this one. Please tell me if it needs a little more meat...it does feel like its missing something, you know?

Thanks for reading <3
mickaela Dec 2016
Tuesday

It’s 2 pm, she guessed
curtains drawn, like a mask covering the
fresh, new, pretty face of the day, sunlight an enemy
the noise of birds breaking through the silk
she’s been half-sleeping since about 7 am
in and out, she dips herself into dreams
and their drowsy paint
drunk with the lethargy
thoughts running smooth like water
and crashing into each other like waves

the phone rings with sudden expectancy
her daughter again, she’s been calling since 9
it’s strange how her ring sounds different
from those of her friends
and the rest of her family
it’s more annoying, a bit louder
and it makes her a bit angry
she feels older than she is
too old to worry about herself
needing a million phone calls just to feel safe
pitied like a toddler
stumbling, using everything to pull herself
through the world
the preparation age
for the years she endured
she’s back to stage one, then?
maybe that’s why God decided
to put the full stop around 90.
So people wouldn’t have to relive
years of tumbling through the world
like a clumsy giant, even though you’re tinier
than you’d ever know, so small in this universe
you feel so young and powerful
your parents think you’re cute
then, later on, they wonder where they went wrong
and you tell them “in bed ”
and your dad slaps you
and you walk out the door
and you tumble, stumble, fumble
through people and places
and boys that never called back
and best friends that never existed
and jobs that paid to **** you dry
and weddings and funerals
and your mom crying in your arms
then you crying by yourself
after she’s gone
we’re all toddlers
each and every one of us
even those of us who got their heads ******* on tight
sometimes that light switch in your heart
doesn’t generate light in your head
and you can’t see to get through this dark world
sometimes you gotta cry
scream
bash your head against something
and cry harder because it hurts
then laugh like you’re crazy

you are crazy

just a crazy old lady
sitting in a dark room
crying as if something’s wrong
when you’re actually happy
happy, because you aren’t at the full stop
happy, because God’s still reading
happy, because your stupid daughter still loves you
after all the times you went wrong
happy because your parents forgave you
and you still have your best friend from 16
and you were employed when you retired
and you fell in love a million times
and you could fall in love a million times more

it’s about 3 pm
she feels like it’s been forever
she reaches over for that phone
a shaky finger swiping
30 missed calls
120 messages
“mom, im coming over”
“mom, answer the phone!”
“pls im worried”
“mom, answer”

a smile breaks her stiff skin
pale eyes watering to the bright light
illuminating the darkness
she sits alone with this digital candle
she knows she should be grateful
so many mothers are disowned
nine months, no,
20 years of pregnancy
their babies tight under their hearts
fed on blood and tears and sweat
only to abandon them
on the doorstep of some retirement ‘home’
aborted
forgotten

but she’s the one
under her daughter’s heart
God, she loves that girl

it’s.....she doesn’t know the time.
maybe centuries went by while she was in her room
thinking
someone’s knocking on the door
the phone’s ringing again
the birds are still singing
she smiles

“Coming!”
My first poem in a LONG while. Maybe that's why it's so long, ha.
Thanks for reading <3
mickaela Sep 2016
Slip out of your resplendence and  magnificence

and break yourself into my suffocating skin
walk around, feel the demon eyes
carving out your back
searching for your heart
to crunch it in their pretty teeth

look through these tired eyes
let them rest on everything you’ve never seen before
heavy darkness choking this illuminated world
you don’t know what to do
because you feel like the world’s just going to go on
dragging your carcass along

sleep walking while everyone’s dancing
on your body, on your grave
because they don’t know that you’re dead

you’re okay, don’t worry
tell everyone that because
you’re hiding nothing
you’re happy on the inside too

but you know no one’s okay
because the truth can’t help us
until you’re paying money
for people to just listen

you’re trying to break out
because you hate being me
tear off your mind and throw it away
you don’t care if you can’t find it later

watch them move and follow them
because they don’t like how you do it
they’re doing it the right way
walk in their line, wait for nothing
have their praises as appetizers
and gag at their curses like aftertaste

and you’re not them, not like them
but you’re just like them
because everyone cries when they’re alone
and no one’s ever okay unless they try hard
and force it into their souls

wanna throw myself away
so someone can come and fix me

because i broke myself trying
trying to transform into you
fitting squares into little round holes
and breaking the whole to make it hold it

you’re tired.
you’ve had enough.
push yourself out
slip back into your own skin
fit your own head back on

and you still won’t  know me.
Reading this when I'm not sad is like watching a video of myself sleeping. : /
Anyway, thanks for reading <3
mickaela Nov 2019
A word to begin
the singing of my lines







A  word to end
this sentence of rhymes 


But the    middle   is lost     and 
undefined. 
So the     poem is unfinished     until 
due time.
My first poem on this site in what, 3 years ? Glad to be back.

Thanks for reading <3

— The End —