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Feb 2018 · 193
I Screamed At the Sky
Mikayla Smith Feb 2018
On this January day,
my heart was broken.
I didn't cry or ask myself why,
I simply mourned the words left unspoken.

How I gave him my all,
But he gave me nothing at all
Except empty promises that he was never going to leave
But isn't that what you get when you wear your heart on your sleeve
And believe every ******* word he says?

I'm not mad, maybe a little sad,
But no big deal.
I've been on this battlefield, before
But I thought this time it was real,
But I lost who I was in his eyes
That still glow gold in sunlight
And those memories burn like the blade
That I put to my skin last Thursday
But he wouldn't pick up the phone,
Never leave a suicidal girl alone
She might drag you down into her black hole
And apparently that's what I did,
Lies spewing from my lips
That I was fine
But tell me why I went outside
"Alive" by Pearl Jam in the earbud jammed into my eardrum,
Screaming at the sky.

It felt surreal as I watched the clouds pass overhead,
Finding a new appreciation for colors that once seemed like a black and white dream
That I'd never see again,
You drained me of everything I once loved,
Claimed it was all in the name of love
But I don't think you know what that means
Because love to me is balanced,
It doesn't make you feel weak
Like you made me to be.

Was I fool? Yes, I admit.
Do I regret letting you in? Yes, I admit.
Do I see your face in the sky? No, I don't.
I see it when I close my eyes like if I stare too long it'll be imprinted in my brain forever,
I should have never brought you to my favorite places because your shadow will always roam behind me.

That's why I'm looking to the sky,
I haven't taken you there yet
And I'm glad because if you were there then I would spend the rest of my life looking at the ground,
And I just can't.

I can't pretend that I'm fine,
I can't pretend that the next few months when I wake up I won't miss your snoring or your imploring of what my nightmares were about,
Come to find out that you were the demon haunting them,
For my fear of abandonment always wins
Because you left me with a pocket full unrequited misery
And looking up into the depth of the sky to repent for my sins,
The sin of loving you even after you hurt me,
That this isn't some twisted dream,
It's reality, which makes it harder to put myself back together again
While you shut me out and I'm living in my head,
I wish you would have just left me for dead instead of numb,
But that's not always how it goes,
I've got your ghost for now,
However, mark my words,
Years from this point I'll be the last thing you think of before you fall asleep
While the image of you won't even occur to me.

I screamed at the sky today,
"Alive" echoing in my ears,
Those unspoken words finally said,
Now in the clouds where they belong.

I'm staying strong.

I screamed at the sky today
And for once,
I think I'm going to be okay.
Written in the aftermath of my first real heartbreak.
Jan 2018 · 153
Up In Smoke
Mikayla Smith Jan 2018
I lit the world on fire,
watched it go up in smoke,
smelled the scent of ashen rose,
passion decomposed,
and dared to question the purity of the oxygen,
but I swallowed my tongue,
secrets like cigarettes,
one puff and I’d choke.

This pyromaniac who stole a match,
he set my heart ablaze,
but he didn’t have water to put out the flames,
so I burned and burned,
he didn’t say a word.

I never liked to destroy,
rather create with my mind,
but I had a habit of falling for ne’er-do-wells,
putting myself through hell,
all for fulfilling an aching void where my heart once resided,
so I took his things that he left in the wake of the flame.

His favorite shirt,
photographs that harbored painful memories,
a thrifted teddy bear left in the dirt,
and all the poems I wrote―
doused in kerosene,
lit on fire,
and I watched it go up in smoke.

Meet the pyromaniac’s demise,
I am the water putting him out,
keeping the embers dancing about for myself,
leaving him to die in a scorching wasteland,
now he understands when I said that I was just as capable of destruction,
just because I didn’t hurt people the way he did,
I had my own ways of making my presence known,
in the aftermath of this warfare,
I walk out of it alone,
watching from the mountains as our world goes up in smoke.
Mikayla Smith Nov 2017
Two broken hearts can make a whole
if you just believe for a little bit that
miracles can happen and
those pieces always
come
back
  together
   in
    the
     end.
Oct 2017 · 276
Joy Ride
Mikayla Smith Oct 2017
If he were the peak of a mountain,
I would have fallen headfirst into the air just to feel the sweet rush of not knowing where I'm going to land,
they call this losing your mind,
but I call it the one taste of ethereal euphoria that is one moment away from being called heaven,
and if heaven existed,
it'd be right in his eyes.
I met someone.
Oct 2017 · 230
Human
Mikayla Smith Oct 2017
I sat beneath the fallen stars,
somehow finding fault in their guidance
when I walked along a deserted path
all because my pride was far too fragile
to leave in the open;

Woes splayed out like a forgotten book,
Tattered pages, innocence long faded―
memories hidden between every word,
yet the reality of my existence sets in at sunrise,
then my dreams crumble down to a lonely whisper into the night.

And I must face the pain,
the anger,
the confusion,
that has overcome every cell in my body
until I am nothing but a reflection of the scars their ghosts left behind.

But, I refuse to look back into that bottomless pit,
hungry for my sense of worth,
no matter how many times it calls my name,
begging to feel whole for just one day;

I won’t go back.

Still, I have traveled down that road with nothing but miles and miles of empty sky,
searching for meaning in every untouched stone,
and every shallow grave.

Yet, no one told me that the traces of skeleton touches would still burn holes in my skin,
that the silver bullets would rip through to my core,
leaving me vulnerable vulnerable in a world that preys on the weak,
and bleeding on the shards of my broken heart like paint to a canvas,
only the wounds never heal.

And it’s an endless ride down a two-way street,
signs screaming “dead-end”,
but you keep going,
thinking that maybe you can change its route.

Behind the facade of cracks filled with gold
and faltered smiles too heavy to pick up again and again,
there is a scared little girl inside,
unwilling to greet the future with open arms,
terrified to take the first step out that door because the minute she does,
it all becomes real,
and reality is the biggest dream-killer.

I've been running from the demons lurking in the past without actually seeing that they are only the contours of my mistakes
and they do not define me,
they do not define me;

They do not define me.

I’ve never looked beyond the ruins,
I’d only seen the darkness that I welcomed so warmly,
but I never saw the light underlying,
so much stronger than the misery,
and if i’d known that this journey,
that realization knocking on my door,
was so promising,
I never would have taken a step back.

I never would have believed for a second that things couldn’t get better
and that the darkness was forever,
but i’ve seen the future and its pleas for redemption;

And I’m listening,
I’m listening for the first time in so long.

It’s calling to me,
and I go because life is about taking chances
and if I hid behind my fear forever,
I would never give myself a chance to change

After all, I am simply human.
Sep 2017 · 311
Sunsets
Mikayla Smith Sep 2017
There I stood, at the edge of the horizon,
ready to drop into the void that has long since consumed me,
complete and utter oblivion on my mind,
and looking toward the angry sky,
my eyes watch the last sunset I'll ever see.

Before I plunge, I breathe in untainted air for the first time since birth,
and I count the palpitations of my still beating heart,
the sky fades to black.

It all goes blank, like watching a tragedy unravel from behind a one-way mirror and being powerless to stop it,
confronting the familiar sensation of drowning,
except, this time it's for real
and there is no way to escape the burning of your barren lungs,
now my heart trembles in the depth of despair,
its final beat pounding in my ears like the echoes of a drum.

Rising from the waves, I swim unscathed
as if I'd been above the water all along,
and I wash upon the dusty shore,
unsure if I've met my tumultuous fate,
my phantom longing to soar,
but invisible chains bonded me, forbidding me from leaving the uncontrollable storm that was brewing.

It didn't take long to realize that this was the oblivion,
the nothingness that I thought would finally bring peace,
all of my reasons seemed as far away as the sun in the sky that I could no longer reach.

The world was still spinning,
maybe somewhere my presence long-forgotten,
my thoughts and my dreams evaporated to dust,
everything that I had once touched:
gone and never to be seen again.

My soul is broken on the ocean floor,
the shattered remains left to fly on fractured wings,
pieces of me sent to every person I love or have loved,
and I can only watch on the outside as they ask themselves what they could have done to save me;

Why didn't they save me?

And I look up to every mountain top,
every cloud passing by,
all in a similar cycle that I had never noticed before because I was so caught up in my own pessimism that I did not see the beauty all around me.

I did not see the hands extended in the air to hold me up after I had fallen,
I had not seen the silent pleas in their eyes
or the ghosts of my past haunting them the way they had haunted me.

Now the stone girl had cracked
and all that they couldn't discern was displayed,
leaving me nothing but an illusion to vanish into the shadows;

and for the first time,
tears swept through my entire being,
the realization that ending my life was forever
but you never think about that until after you've jumped;

that the limits to my own mortality became clear
in the millisecond before the sunset,
the last glimpse of light I ever saw before I raced through the tunnel to find it.

They say that light can vanquish darkness,
but they never tell you that sometimes the darkness needs more than embers,
sometimes it needs a sunset.

And if someday I were to live again,
I would never take them for granted.
Every talks about suicide, but they never talk about what happens after suicide.
Sep 2017 · 357
Faithless
Mikayla Smith Sep 2017
I touched her lips,
reminisce of where they were last kissed
and I hold back broken sentences
that I may find comfort in telling her
if she weren’t the one who
cut off my tongue.

Speechless, she reaches into
my soul like a spear to
a bottomless river, expecting
to find my self-worth but,
instead, she finds a
blackness that has consumed me
long since she burrowed herself
within its depth.

Loving her was my religion,
and as she faded into the Autumn wind,
I knew that I could never love again,
not without travesty,
not without remorse.

Without her, there was
no meaning in the blue
skies or the phantoms that
hide in their corners.

I knew that when she didn’t
answer my prayers at night,
my faith had gone as well.
Jul 2017 · 415
She Writes A Poem
Mikayla Smith Jul 2017
The ghosts come back to haunt her,
Their shadows lurking over the ancient escritoire,
Quill in hand, paper a blank canvas,
Wondering if the poets of the past would praise her
Or look on her in scorn,
Will her own words be a wordsmith's dream?
Will she live a travesty and be idolized in death?
She buzzes with unease,
Feeling the fierce grip of inspiration overcome her,
Succumbing her to its essence before it vanishes,
And in her isolation, the words dance,
Sometimes in harmony, sometimes in battle.
Something to write when there's too much inspiration.
Jul 2017 · 592
Mama's and Papa's
Mikayla Smith Jul 2017
Mama washes the clothes
And hangs them out to
Dry, she takes me by my
Hand and we dance beneath
The twelve o'clock sky.

Papa goes to out and
Doesn't come home until
Late, we're all snuggled in
Bed by the time Mama asks
Him why he hasn't ate.  

He's missing out on time with
The kids,
Mama tells her sister
One dreary day.

I might just have to work more, she'll say.

Papa feels weak, thinks it's his job
To provide for a family that's
Just starting to fray.

Mama works and we ask
Why she won't come to play.

Papa tells me she's off to
Work, that it'll just be for
A little while.

But, days turn into weeks,
Weeks turn into months,
Months turn into years.
Instead of Mama, Daddy now
Wipes my tears.

They tell him that he's a poor
Excuse of a man
And that Mama is better
Off finding a real one.

Times have changed,
Families grow in different ways.
Sometimes things happen,
But I've learned that
Mama's and Papa's still
Love their children just the same.
A piece reflecting my childhood. My mother and father struggled for years to have children. When they finally did, my mother dreamed of being a stay at home mom to me and my younger brother. However, my father struggled to hold down a job, forcing my mother to work full-time while my dad looked for anyone who would hire. This lasted for years: my father losing job after job, drowning his sorrows in alcohol and my mother growing more and more bitter at my father and at the fact that she was missing out on time with her children. I was too young at the time to realize the circumstances, but now that I'm older, I have a much better perspective on it.
Jul 2017 · 458
These Fallen Petals
Mikayla Smith Jul 2017
Children like to pick apart beautiful things and leave them bare,
Simply because the destruction that lies at their fingertips is far beyond compare.
They touch the lilac sky with creation in mind
But they don't know that the light withholding their innocence has slowly died.

As children, we are the petals of a flower, lovely when in bloom
But wilted and numb once the bitterness consumes.
We are left to wonder where our innocence has gone
And we roam until our carefree days are done.

O, the vines embrace our still beating hearts,
Like the thorns that have not released us to the cold world.
I crumble beneath the lilac sky
As these fallen petals swirl.
Jul 2017 · 877
Overdose
Mikayla Smith Jul 2017
“Overdose” - July 11, 2017

She lay on the cold concrete,
Dress lifted, head held down.
Her insides have gone numb
As innocence bleeds into the ground.

After it had been done,
He told her she better keep her mouth shut.
Told her it was “all her fault,”
Said she shouldn’t have dressed like a ****.

Then, she goes home,
Suffering all alone.
No one to listen, no one to care,
Nothing but the imprint of his menacing glare.

When will it end?
When will it end?

He stays awake at night,
Listening in on his father’s two o’clock rage.
Didn’t bother to wonder what it was this time,
Just another one of Daddy’s alcoholic haze.

In their brokenness,
The shadows don’t even come out anymore.
The walls surrounding are slowly crumbling
But it doesn’t surprise him anymore.

Love knows nothing but black eyes and bleeding hearts,
At least that’s what he’s come to know living in the dark.
The whispers say, “Escape while you still have the chance.”
If he did that, his mother’s blood would be on his hands.

When will it end?
When will it end?

In their brokenness,
The tears flow faster than they ever have before.
Something to take away the pain,
Something to end the internal war.

The flag of surrender sits on the table,
They’ll walk through the walls they built so high.
Maybe there’s a better home awaiting
In the wounded sky.

When will it end?
When will it end?

Every day, people suffer in silence
And we just watch them wither away.
We read their scars like words on paper
But never ask them what caused them pain.

Our fellow humans would rather die
Than “bother” us with what’s on their mind.
They would rather take away their life
Because we have closed our hearts to the outside.

So, I have a question for you, my friends.
This stigma that we haven’t yet changed,
*When will it end?
Not my usual poem. Inspired by a Tumblr post.
Jun 2017 · 1.5k
We
Mikayla Smith Jun 2017
We
We have funny colored hair
And we sing our corrupted music a little too loud
We paint pretty pictures of revolution
Right on the surface of our diamond-studded faces.

We run away from responsibility,
In fear of not meeting the standards set by generations before.
Work hard, no sleep.
Play a little less, fall under the knife.
When will we reach the ****** of
This demented little fairytale?

Sit in a perfectly placed corner,
Smile wide, and don’t say a word.
They’re going to muffle your cries with cotton, anyways.
Open to interpretation ;)
May 2017 · 361
As We Ruled
Mikayla Smith May 2017
Trampled on the remains of the past
And these tears on my face run like the blood in my veins.
Only one day my veins will be empty
And I'll be nothing more than passing clouds heavy with rain.

These days, my mind is blank;
Ready to sway to a forgotten song.
Somewhere, my shadow roams,
Remembering when I ruled unbreakable and strong.

Its memory flickers like a lantern in the night,
Hoping to rekindle our flame that once blazed so bright.
Yet, how can I forget what I was
And still, accept who I'm supposed to become?

My lonely life strikes me dead
And there sits my throne:
Pondering the days of wine and bread,
Now an echo where he stands alone.

As we ruled, we crowned the eager faces,
But, now they're broken souls time has faded.
As we ruled, I'd look to you and see the light
And now you're just darkness still battling a lost fight.

We're in ruins! We're in ruins!
Can't you see?
Beyond the horizon,
There's nothing, I guarantee.

This kingdom was once my home,
Where I ruled with pride.
Now, I fight against matters unknown
In this lonely life.

When I close my eyes,
I still see us looking toward the sky.
The sun illuminated our world
As we ruled a land where we loved with hearts unfurled.

When I listen to the stillness of the breeze,
I can hear our distant cries of victory.
And a ghost of a smile dances on my lips
When I remember how the world was at our fingertips.

I just want to go back in time
To those days when our hearts were kind.
But, this power went to our heads
And our days of ruling sadly came to an end.
Today has been a very hard day for me. Memories of past experiences have come to haunt me and this poem is in response to that. It may not be the best, but this has truly come from my heart. I hope that you enjoy it.
Apr 2017 · 425
Spearmint Gum
Mikayla Smith Apr 2017
I think you’ve got an imaginary gun against your head
Because you want to paint the walls in brains and red.
A gun is not a paintbrush that you use when your heart is in distress,
There are a few things that will numb the pain
Like a few pills or a toxic shot to the brain.
Just remember that after you ***** on the ground
And your screams no longer make a sound,
A packet of spearmint gum will be passed around.
Apr 2017 · 582
"Poe"- April 24, 2017
Mikayla Smith Apr 2017
‘Tis no irony that Poe ‘twas a
Poet and a greater man
Of words than any other
Man that lived o’er the
Sun and under the starry
Night sky.
a lyrical piece that my mind mustered
Apr 2017 · 440
The Change
Mikayla Smith Apr 2017
I want to change. I want to see the world
with clear eyes.
I want to look upon
people with admiration
as opposed to envy. I want to live my life as
if it were my last day. I want to be
the fire in the sky and the fish squirming
beneath the earth. I want to love mankind,
restore my faith that so long ago was abolished.
I want to stare at the sun and not fear going
blind because my whole life I’ve been blind
and I’m finally starting to see colors and faces
and the good in the world that we
somehow have forgotten. I want to reach
out to my brothers and my sisters
and lead them down this inevitable journey together.
We’re always walking alone, somehow forgetting
that we inhabit alongside each other
and we can walk hand in hand but we have
been divided for so long that this solitary
life is all we’ve ever known.
I want to be the change that this world
has long since hungered for. And here I
offer you my crumbs in hopes that
you’ll make a meal out of it. Here I am
from rags of the once most expensive
fabric and we’ll sew a new blanket to
shelter us from the cold and bitter wind.
I wish to be the change that none of
us have foreseen, but still have the
impact of a thousand storms. To
wave the darkness down and give
clear skies a new meaning. I will be
the change, just you wait.
Be the change that you want to see in the world.
Apr 2017 · 178
When I Love
Mikayla Smith Apr 2017
When I love, you’ll know. I’ll go out of my way to be with you, I’ll hug you and be your light all at once. But when I love, it’s not easy for me to stop. I’ll cry, I’ll scream, I’ll beg for you not to go and once you’re out that door, I’ll mourn your death because who you were with me has died. There will be no more love songs, no more thunder rumbling in my gut, no more sparks when I kiss you. You will be just another face that I’ll try to forget. That is how you know when I love.

When I don’t love, I am distant. I am quaint and silent as an autumn night. There is no skipping of my heart, only a faint line that you dare not cross. I have the aura of a tepid puddle of rain, the mood of a tornado that you do not want to stare in the eye. I won’t look, I won’t talk. I’ll be a stone girl and you will accept this because while you are an individual with a soul that wanders the world with purpose, your soul was not in match with mine.

- *Not meant to be
Apr 2017 · 186
Conflicted
Mikayla Smith Apr 2017
I should love you;
I want to love you
But my heart doesn’t
Feel
the
same
way.

Am I a monster
Because there
Aren’t sparks
When I
kiss
your
lips?

You’ve a soul
Bright and
Shining like the
Sea but something
In me doesn’t
Feel
the
same
way.
Apr 2017 · 543
Lovers
Mikayla Smith Apr 2017
Like diamonds, we sleep in a soft repose,
Where we dream of slipping past the wandering souls;
Numbing our swollen hearts in glass and stone,
No more clothes, no more clothes

Making love with the stillness of the night
As the stars overhead flicker so, so bright;
Tracing the pattern of my spine,
Running out of time, running out of time

The sun pops from the sky,
Scanning the field of dreams where our love lies;
Written in the imprinted lines,
Saying goodbye, saying goodbye
A monotetra in honor of National Poetry Month.
Mar 2017 · 476
Murky Skies
Mikayla Smith Mar 2017
All I see is murky skies.
No rain, no sunshine;
And it serves as a cruel
Reminder that I am still alive.

The blackness of my soul
Will hit you and I'll swim in your veins.
A ticking time bomb:
Tick, tick, tick.
Heart's broken and the
Addiction of falling to
Numb the pain.

Far ahead there's light beyond
The murky skies;
This I know but I don't
Wish to face it until the
Darkness has completely died.

The world has changed,
The kindness is drained.
My, how have we
Survived this long without
Falling? Without the blackness
Of each other's souls
Beckoning, calling?

There are murky skies above
And I realize that I took the
Sunshine for granted;
But I see the hope above the
Sky and I know that with this,
My heart will repair all that is
Empty and broke.

I can be the change;
I can see past the present
Looking into the future
With a smile on my face.
Things will get a little
Brighter with each
Step along the way.

I see the murky skies
And when the drops
Of rain hit my skin,
I know that I'm alive.
Mar 2017 · 198
Poetry in the Flesh
Mikayla Smith Mar 2017
Her heart was
A quill that wrote
The universe into
Galaxy-painted,
Star-studded wonder.

Her mind was the
Blank canvas that
The heaven's drained of
Black and washed
In white.


She was poetry
In essence,
A poem in the
Faded landscape
Of life.
Mikayla Smith Mar 2017
Give 'em the old
Razzle dazzle,
Frizzle frazzle.

Hair big enough to reach
The clouds,
Ambition strong enough
To sail through the
Massive, roaring crowds.

The lights - they feel
good.
The adrenaline - heart's pumping
The way it should.

Sing, dream - the way
You please.

Give 'em the old
Razzle dazzle,
Frizzle frazzle
To-night.
In honor of Tim Curry's forgotten singing career.
Mar 2017 · 292
Elias
Mikayla Smith Mar 2017
He's silent; quieter
Than the
Whispering wind
And his eyes
Hold something much
More powerful
Than anything I've
Seen before.

In them, there's
Wonder and love
And a desperate
Search for
Kindness left in
The world.

Luring me, captivating
Me with his
Hope and I only
Wish that people
Understood that
In people like him,
There's faith.
A poem written about a dear friend of mine.
Mar 2017 · 414
12
Mikayla Smith Mar 2017
12
A phantom came to me
One night,
And told me that I must
Repent for all
The lying I've
Done.
"Throw away the temptation,"
He'd say, "solve
Where you stand in the
Universe and
Tell the truth, for God's
Sake!"
By God as my holy witness,
I swore that I
Would.

The hurt in Mommy's eyes
Strengthened the guilt that
Ate away at my
Deceitful little
Heart.

Daddy was the smart one
In this tedious war
Erupting inside our
Family. He forged
Alliances first and
Managed to
Make Mom the
Enemy.

He turned his children
Into soldiers so he
Could master
Victory; his children
Were ****** and broken
On the battlefield, but
We still had one
Last battle.
I was the rebel force
That exposed the
Truth to the
Enemy, only now I
Realize the real enemy
Was my father.

As the cover was
Blown,
She was a whirlwind
Ready to destroy
Anything in her
Way.

Even after hearing
Their screams
From the comforts
Of a corner and
As they sang happy birthday
To me with one
Pitiful candle in an
Expired cake,
I knew that in this lifetime,
Turning twelve
Wasn't so great.
My twelfth birthday.
Mar 2017 · 767
2002
Mikayla Smith Mar 2017
Remember before the
Days of darkness
Rise, there used
To be brighter times?

The days of
Skinned knees and
Dancing in the
Autumn leaves
Haunt my teenage
Dreams.

Back to when
Sesame Street played
Endlessly on the
Family T.V. and
If Daddy watched it
One more time,
He'd **** near
Scream.

When Mama had
Her Canon in my face
And I'd hide in
The tiny spaces;
Appreciating the simpleness
Of my childhood
Resting place.

Before reality set
In and rattled
My toddler brain;
Before the world
Would turn
Cold and "how
Big the sky was" would
Just become
Another midnight
Thought.

How could I refrain
From such beautiful
Memories when
They're still
Haunting my
Teenage dreams?
A sentimental piece because it's just a beautiful day in Michigan and it reminded me of the clear skies of childhood (oh, what a cheesy line, I know!)
Feb 2017 · 295
Thorns
Mikayla Smith Feb 2017
You always had a way to take the darkness and make it light;
Perhaps that’s why you had me shining so bright.
You saw me in all my darkness and saw the way I adored,
But this beauty was unlike anything you’ve seen before.
It was a gear slowly yet surely spinning out of control,
For I was a wildly flailing untamed soul.

You were a rose and I forgot you had thorns
So now I **** my thumb to numb the pain you bore.
You were light but you could not be contained;
Even through my clear skies, you still found my rain.

Soon you became a storm
And I still tried to climb around your thorns.
I didn’t care if there was blood pouring from my veins;
Hoping that your light would shine through and stop the rain.

You had a way around my darkness and I thought it to be your light,
Only it was your light that dwindled my flame that once burned so bright.
You were not a rose and I knew,
But I had hoped that you would still keep the day skies blue.
That was how you kept me from blooming in the storms;
I was the rose, but you were my thorns.
Spare me the pain of heartbreak.
Feb 2017 · 1.5k
Setting Fire To the Sun
Mikayla Smith Feb 2017
Burning―a hot blaze
In the manner of fire.
Flickering in the form
Of ignited passion,
It dwindles in the
Morning sky.

I admire the beauty
From afar, for if I gazed
Straight ahead into the
Magnificent light,
My sight shall be
No more.

Wandering, my thoughts
Haunted me day
And night.
What if the light was
No more
And the world lived
In eternal darkness?

Who would be to save
Our beloved
Skies from going
Utterly blank?

There must be a savior;
Someone with power
And courage willing
To set fire to the
Sun to
Save our souls from
Flickering away
With the
Winds of time.
An aesthetic piece for the soul.
Feb 2017 · 653
That's Where They Go
Mikayla Smith Feb 2017
Backstreet, open doors,
Small town, empty pockets for the poor:
That's where they go
When they linger on the last shred of hope;
Only flying toward a blank journal page
When the writer's have lost all passion in their artistic haze.

Closed minds, wings that were not meant to soar,
Tired eyes, broken hearts falling to the floor:
That's where they go
While they ingest sorrow on a withering soul
And they march on weary feet
To a battlefield drenched in defeat.

Puffy faces, starving stomachs demanding more,
Feeding hatred, love dying like never before:
That's where they go
As the wind blows
To a place of shattered picture frames
And tombstones carved with their names.

But, where do they go
When the judgment begins to *****
And they're left on the last shred of hope?
I love prophetic pieces, don't you?
Feb 2017 · 394
Serenity
Mikayla Smith Feb 2017
Peace never seems to know my name.
Hatred never seems to escape my heart.
It’s these things that people blame
When their worlds are falling apart.

Life is so strange as an experience;
Within itself there is always something new.
A medallion to behold
Or someone as precious as you.

No one can take away what you feel
Or invalidate every single one of your thoughts.
What you say is just as real
As every penny in the fountain caught.

Serenity only comes once in a lifetime.
Choose and pick your battles wisely.
Be who you want to be
And make sure you fully live your life.
Written when I was younger, but it still holds sentimental value to me.
Mikayla Smith Feb 2017
Lay under the stars with a lover, talking about the meaning of life.
2. Take one risk that may lead to regret, but you’ll at least have a story to tell your children.
3. Fall in love with the wrong person, at least you’ll have learned.
4. Drive along a dirt road after midnight, inhaling the country air and appreciating for just one moment that technology has not yet reached this part of the earth.
5. Go swimming in a lake with nothing but your skin and the sand between your toes.
6. Play your music so loud on a warm summer night that your neighbors scream for you to turn it off.
7. Ride on one upside-down rollercoaster after just eating cotton candy and popcorn.
8. Dye your hair one crazy color and watch it fade, because any color is better than black and white.
9. Stay out until four o’clock in the morning in your friend’s car, hanging your head out of the window and just living.
10. Make memories that will cause a serious case of nostalgia when you’re old and withering from the soft caress of time.
A sort of a bucket list for the soul.
Feb 2017 · 497
Embers
Mikayla Smith Feb 2017
When we are born, we are born with fire
Dancing in our souls like madmen,
Feasting on our every desire
And granting every wish you could imagine.

So many times we are told to keep our fire safe.
Don’t let it crackle and waste.
But, what if you do just that?
The light from your world will turn to black
And the fire you now need but took for granted will never come back.

The number of tears you’ve cried will put it out
And the dying sparks will fly about.
Nothing will be left but shattered parts
Of a broken soul wishing to restart.

Save every moment you have alive.
Good ones, bad ones, even “okay” ones will suffice.
Just promise my old and lonely heart
That you won’t reduce yourself to embers dancing in the dark.
One of my favorite poems that I've ever written. Enjoy!
Feb 2017 · 723
They Were Americans
Mikayla Smith Feb 2017
A dawn begins―a
New era erupted inside
An unsalvageable territory
That once stood towering
And proud.

They were Americans,
Mocking the face of
Danger,
Not creating it.

They were Americans,
Powerful and free,
But who are now
Prisoners to                                                               ­                         
Temptation and greed.

What shall become of
Them?
Shall their souls
Be sold to
The devil,
Masquerading as promise?

Fools they all are―
Cowering behind their
Flag and their
Anthem,
Using them as a
Definition of a
True American.

They were victorious,  
Glorified in the
Eyes of war and
Violence―battled
Between peace
And harmony.

The freedom fell
In bereft
Ruins,
Abolishing the pride
And glory of a
Once great nation.

They were Americans,
Humble and kind.                                                        ­                               
Now they’re waiting
For the sun to rise
And rid the country
Of immorality.

They were Americans
And now they’re
Just empty shells
Living in the shadows
Of a once great
Nation.

You see, they were Americans.
Seventh place in a slam poetry competition.
Feb 2017 · 211
80¢
Mikayla Smith Feb 2017
The man in rags asked, “Do you have a cigarette to spare?
I have eight cents to my name,
Broke from gambling away with Life’s little game.”
Man in rags, in this life, no one’s going to care.

The people you’ll meet will tear you down
And temptation will fire up real quick.
Man in rags wandering the town,
Don’t burn to ashes like an eighty cent cigarette.

A fading tin cup fills the empty spaces,
But, not a soulless shell of a man.
Don’t beg in front of unfamiliar faces
Because the greatest pleasures won’t drop in the palm of your hand.

Not everything works out the way we’d like,
And sadly, cigarettes don’t fall from the sky.
Lessons come and they go.
Yet, your lack of eighty cents is starting to show.
Feb 2017 · 1.1k
Angel Wings
Mikayla Smith Feb 2017
It has always amazed me how
No one knows the time
They’re supposed
To go.

They only saunter and
Roam like they
Always have―hoping
That there will be
One more day
They’ll get to do
The things they wanted
To do yesterday.

Not everyone has the pleasure
Of living before fading
Into another
Soul in the sky,
They only exist before
Life call’s them by their
Name and takes them
By the hand.

Only, what will they do
If they earn their
Angel wings too
Soon?
In honor of a classmate of mine who died in October.
Feb 2017 · 372
Like Toy Soldiers
Mikayla Smith Feb 2017
We stride in a faultless line
Heroism at our shoulders
And pride reflecting from
Our eyes.

The things we come across
Are haunting
As the horrendous
Monster of Fate
Tends to intervene.

Despite the dreary, odious
Scenes displayed
Before me,
We keep marching on.

As we strode, I saw
Tragedy unravel.
The poor sought salvation
And Dreamer’s hopes
Were evaporated to dust.

But nevermind what we saw
Nevermind reality; it’s inevitable
So, we keep marching on.

We walk along deserted
Paths, overflowing with
Calamity.
And not many stayed
For the march.

One by one they ran, fear striking them in
The heart.
This cycle continued until I walked alone.

But, I kept marching on.
Feb 2017 · 512
Child of Darkness
Mikayla Smith Feb 2017
Mama said I was a miracle from the Lord above,
Conceived from a soft embrace, gentleness, and love.
Tied between two intact heartstrings,
I was their perfect little epitome of everything.
There I was, held together at the wishing well,
Brought down from heaven, but born in hell
Unto the stranger things in life that we look back on with strife
Painting a pretty portrait of treachery, capturing the misery
And surrounded by the impurest mysteries,
This is I, Mommy’s miracle and Daddy’s distaste,
A spiral down the wrong path and pathetic human waste,
My life left in a shattered mess
Since this “miracle” was labeled a child of darkness.
Jan 2017 · 3.1k
What Is A Hero? (Slam Poem)
Mikayla Smith Jan 2017
I’d like to know what a hero is;
Pretty simple, I believe.
Explain to me how a hero is
Supposed to act
And when the fool’s
Heinous crimes will be
Given a reprieve.

What is a hero?
Is a hero supposed to mock
What causes the danger
Or laugh in the faces of
Those who wish for change?
Where’s his cape?
Where’s his dimming lights And crowded stage?


What is a hero when he
Starts the problems he was
Deemed to end?
What is he but a hero when
The foe becomes his friend?
Is he still the powerful
And mighty
When the journey towards
Greatness has become too flighty?

Is a hero supposed to cower
Behind the power?
Is a hero meant to
Lead with hate instead of love?
Is this “hero” your definition
Of the “great” America we’re still
Yet to become?
What is a hero doing with
You?
How are we going to get this
Message through?
It’s not he who is the hero
But we the people
Who went within a second From a million to zero

It’s not them who are the
Heros, but the villains
Overruled by corporations
And common greed.
What is a villain wearing a
Hero’s mask
Doing imprisoning a country
That struggled so long
To be freed?
As you may have guessed, this poem is about the one and only Donald J. Trump.
Jan 2017 · 577
Starlight
Mikayla Smith Jan 2017
A simple gleam in the sky
Doesn’t seem to be enough light;
Especially when the darkness overcomes
This world of quickly fading love.

Why is it that they provide hellfire
Instead of holy water?
Do you believe for a second
That anything will quench the thirst
Of Satan’s sons and daughters?

A light in the blazing sky,
But it seems that the still wind
Never whispers goodbye.
Rolling tide and a blood-soaked sea,
We’re only left to reminisce
Of what used to be.
Partially inspired by Edgar A. Poe's "Annabel Lee" and partially inspired by Donald Trump's America of anarchy.
Jan 2017 · 534
Moon Child
Mikayla Smith Jan 2017
I am the result
Of a love affair
Between darkness and
The galaxies
Above; stars
Gleaming in the
Most unlikely of
Places.

My heart and my
Mind collide
Like asteroids
Hitting the
Surface of
Earth, with
A million black
Holes reaching
To pull me
Back in.

I am a love
Child of the
Sky, with
The sun leaving
At dusk and
The moon
Always standing
By my
Side.
Jan 2017 · 1.2k
The Dead Oak Tree
Mikayla Smith Jan 2017
Look o’er there,
Do you
See?
For boundaries
Are
Nonexistent in this
Moment by
The dead oak
Tree.

Used to be
Magic
Here by the
Dead
Oak tree, used to
Be clothed
In rich autumn
Leaves, dressed
In the fresh moonlit
Breeze.

Nonexistent, a delusion
Amidst a lengthy
Battle of clarity
And confusion.
Is this what we
Dreamed
While we watched
The life drain
From the oak
Tree?

A skeleton against
The ******,
Wounded sky,
The brown
Leaves of
The dead oak
Tree fly
By.
Jan 2017 · 340
The Phantoms
Mikayla Smith Jan 2017
Citizens beware, for there was a catastrophe that knocked on the devil’s door
And he demanded that we keep our eyes open wider than ever before.
Your mind vividly reacts, it all seems so clear
Until something on the totem pole breaks and rationality bleeds out like a single tear.

I am solid, seeing things through the cold and unloving dark,
For there is a light at the end of the tunnel
In all their empty faces and broken hearts.

Citizens beware, there is hatred fueling their tanks that were on low
But are now plants seeded in the cursed ground, struggling to grow.
All sense has vanished, never to be seen,
So back into the black hole of despair and shattered dreams.

I am a waste, passing through a land we were once proud to claim as ours,
Now only seeing the corruption that lies beneath
Piles upon piles of fallen stars.

Citizens beware, those who were once alive
Will rise and try to reclaim their lost light,
For the darkness has drained the world of love
And left it a wasteland of what we feared it would become.

I am angry, not at the world nor its painful scars,
But at the people with hearts of hatred
Like phantoms wandering in the dark.

Citizens, open up your eyes
And let the desire for change in you rise.
Be like a phoenix from the flame
And battle with love what was once hate.

I am invincible with a passion for peace burning in my heart
And I will not stop until this madness ends,
Until we are like phantoms marching out of the dark.
Jan 2017 · 383
Cynic
Mikayla Smith Jan 2017
Life seems pretty
Plain with
Their faces so dull,
Arms so
Weak, the
Weight
Of the world
So heavy.

Suppose that it
Does get
Brighter beyond these
Black horizons and
Opaque words of
The mad.

Where will we be
Once the
Weight of
The world crumbles
Beneath
Mounds of
Saline tears and
Ashen hearts?
Title explains it all, my friends.
Jan 2017 · 471
Pieces of Me
Mikayla Smith Jan 2017
Writer extraordinaire,
Adventurer,
Wanderer of the stars.
Roamer of broken streets
And lover of the dark.

Explorer of words,
Lover of yellowing pages,
Binder of such elegant growth.
Cursive to the keen eye
And raindrops on the silky petals of a rose.

Pieces of me shine through the littlest crevices,
In the open spaces and hard-to-reach places.
Who am I to deny such poetry?
Just a fun little poem I wrote in the heat of the moment.
Jan 2017 · 2.3k
I Am Lightning
Mikayla Smith Jan 2017
I am the wind when the tide is high
And the clouds hang like broken picture frames in the sky,
Holding on for a moment of glory
While the poet’s haunting words write me life’s little story.

I am the sun when the world has no shine,
A gleam lost within the precious folds of time.
My manner of pride surpassing
What so long ago became everlasting,
For the days have become nothing more than an actor’s last scene.

I am thunder rippling in the dark
As the raindrops wound the already fragile hearts.
Sorrow falling upon the world like a blanket,
Wondering how much longer our broken souls can take it.

I am lost when the storm shatters the world,
Breaking the glass as the space between the lines unfurl.
And wandering like no man wanders before,
Hanging from the busted seam brought by greed, hunger, and war,
Never allowing their dreams to wash upon a dusty shore.

I am lightning, vibrant and ready to be a guide in the night,
Ready to end the darkness with a future promising and bright.
I am lightning, leading them through the storm
And abolishing the suffering that our hearts and our souls transformed.
I am lightning amongst thunder, ironically quiet and frightened,
Yet, they forget that their darkness too deserves to be lightened.
Written in the beginning of September and my third year of high school, I was inspired to write this after viewing an assignment prompt in my A.P. English Literature class. Deciding to compare that of my mind, soul, and body to an element, I chose lightning. To have the characteristics of lighting, I feel as if one must be vibrant against a black sky and bursting with passion as lighting does electricity. All of us are lighting one way or another. No matter the way one chooses to express their inner lighting, just remember that the small bit of electricity is there and it is alive.
Jan 2017 · 330
An Evening With Mr. Poe
Mikayla Smith Jan 2017
I’d imagine if ever found,
He’d hang around
A ****** pub
Right smack in the middle
Of town.

Perhaps he’d nearly burn
Off his throat from
Straight tonic and
Gin or
Maybe he’d have a
Conversation with
The raven; the
Sardonic chant of
“Nevermore” echoing the
Walls as he’d drunkenly
Hit the floor.

Stifling an intoxicated
Giggle or
Two, I’d ask him
What Annabel Lee would
Do once the demons
In the sea threatened
Her love or if
The evil eye was eyeing
Him from above.

I’d ask all things, up
And down and
Why a man of
His genius still
Lingered in this sleepy
Old town.

Perhaps before I
Depart, I’ll pluck a
Feather right from his
Raven’s wing and leave
Mr. Poe to bask
In the sweet
Sound of silence
As the pendulum
Swings.
I am very passionate about the works of Edgar Allan Poe and I wrote my love for said works through my own poetic mastery. I hope you enjoy reading a little snippet of how I imagine meeting our beloved Poe would be. I sure enjoyed writing it!

— The End —