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Yes, revenge is sweet and the beauty of karma matches your face.
However, why would I get even with someone
who wasn’t on my level in the first place?
I really mean it in the worst way.
I’ve held the damage in for a while but now I’ll say
everything without regret because you made me feel this way.
I forget your name on purpose every time that I pray.
You caused cascading waves to flow down my face
after you entered the fray. My sweet wishes were slain
by your scorpion-like sting as you turned out to be a snake.

I see your weak speech filled with might and probably.
I thought I was safe, yet you didn’t even fret to try me
and I trusted that you were behind me.
So it’s shocking when I’m falling,
to see your arms not trying to stop me
when you’re so used to catching bodies.
February 3, 2021: This poem has had three different names, five tones, and seven topics so far. I think I finally figured it out though. Should we even the odds?
Jason Feb 3
I am a reflection of
What should have been
The mirror darkened
Silver tarnished
Cracked in insouciance

I am the fallen fragments
Molecules devastated
Fractured facets of
Silicone sand
Meticulously separated

In scattered light
I am the shadow of
A jaded shade
An obscured apparition of
Abiding love

Framed in pain
I am the spaces between
The polished glass
The sharpened edges
The once-perfect dreams

I am the fist
Fear-enforced ferocity
I am the anger-driven
Hypervigilant philosophy
Responsible for each atrocity

I am the blood
Chasing each line
Filling each wrinkle
Draining reason
Never satiating time

I am the man
Left behind lies
Determined deficient
Dejected detritus
An unwanted prize

I am
I don't know who
I... don't know what to do
But since I don't know
I could be the superglue too
© 02/03/2021 Jason R. Michie All Rights Reserved
Jason Jan 26
I am not inconstant,
But forever evolving,
Not closed off,
But not always open.
I expose my heart
Only when the sky darkens.

I build toothpick-towers,
Tantalizing torments
Taller than trees.
Chateaus of cards
Whose hallowed halls
Visitors seldom peruse,
And even more rarely see.

Young and foolish and bold,
Thoughts all over the place,
I spoke like a shotgun.
My opinions explosions
Verbal projectiles
Going off in your face.

I lived life by moments,
I existed only then,
Only there.
Motivated by love, yes,
But also by pain
And by fear.
Each memory
Of each moment
By each fallen tear.

Now older and wiser
-That's either a laugh or a sin
Haunted might be more apt-
I find I write
Too close to the skin.
A subtle blade,
Flirting, teasing,
Razors edge longing to dive in.
Vampiric voracity
Obscured by imperfect opacity,
Seeking the vitality within.

What ****** force
To unleash?
What uncouth beast
Would I be?
That which sustains me?

Better to starve,
To choke on dust,
Than to make that first ****.
Dooming myself
To an eternal enmity
Against my own will.

I've heard it said that
Wisdom is the product
Of suffering and time.
But what dear cost,
What dire punishment,
When youth is the crime?
So I'll try to balance the scales
With love and lessons learned,
And relinquish remorse to rhyme.
© 01/26/21, © 02/09/21 Jason R. Michie All Rights Reserved
Jason Jan 25
Words pour from my heart
Staining the page crimson
Shaking hand spatters ink
Pens azure life-blood leaking
Rhythmic refuge reverie
Beatboxed spittle
Tears accompany
Washing ink-blood
Into drumstick-pen dents
Petite purple puddles
Small seas of sadness
Storm-tossed soul
A sailor searching
Three-ring horizons
For spiral-bound cyclones
© 01/25/21 Jason R. Michie All Rights Reserved

Writing, like music, is a refuge to me. Writing is the only means I posses of giving physical form to the constant storm inside me. The act of translation from soul/heart/mind to written word can heal and destroy. Indeed, one might think one must be destroyed in order to be created anew. Scars support this theory.
South City Lady Nov 2020
words flutter as fireflies
flicking the glass
anxious, incessant,
nagging my sleep
berating decisions,
lamenting shortcomings,
tapping upon every insecurity
until they are spoken, liberated
from the heart's sarcophagus
I watch them fumbling through air
spiraling madly, luminescent
in their liberty, twirling
upon night's velvet cape
then dissipating into the ether
of forgotten memory
as thoughts expire
and settle into the fragrant satin
of freshly stained dreams
An ode to the  sleepless nights of this week, of this pandemic, and the ways we acknowledge and wrestle with our restlessness through poetry
Emry Oct 2020
The set of the sun, and end of the day.
The fall into night, and into its fright.
When I hold you, everything is alright.
We’ll hug through the sun, through night and through day.
And, at the end of the day, I’d have it no other way
Poem about a friend's stories with self-harm that I wrote yesterday. Edit: early line break on this, too. "Day" isn't supposed to break.
Is it just another perspective?
Or is it a much broader lie?
Is it what makes you fly into the sky?
Or is it that something that helps you through the night?

Is it just an expression of thoughts?
Is it just some feelings that you bought?
For someone, from someone?
Or is it everything that you sought?

Is it like writing your life script?
Or yet another piece of paper that you ripped?
Is it just some words you could gather?
Or is it out there forever,
Once you pieced those words together?

Is it just a combination of phrases and words?
Or is it expounding on a fairy tale that you heard?
Is it just a mysterious experience?
Or is it something more serious?

Is it an escape from this cruel world?
Or is it a declaration of truth with a banner unfurled?
Is it like God speaking through you?
Or is it always within you?
Maybe in different forms and styles,
Something that makes you stop and stay awhile?

Is it a catharsis of a tragedy?
Or something to help you keep steady?
Is it ever hostile?
Or does it always makes you smile?
What is poetry for you?
Lingua Franca Aug 2020
Not only do our lives matter Black is more than a life that matters.
Black is beautiful in every way shape and form.
Why do you steal it and call it yours?
Why now do you tell me I look wrong?
Black is strong.
You love me in sport and when I play but when I am walking and moving I’m scary and and in your way.
Black is intelligent in every age
Why do you tell me that it’s strange for me to behold and engage.
To educate
Black is interesting yes
But do you go and **** precious diamonds pat artefacts?
Black is brilliant I know
But why do you dull my gleam with your fingerprints all on my fro

Black is enough
Black is enough
Black is
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