Open the Blast Doors

Rip out the cord,

ending the chord of the alarm

ringing incessantly,

purposelessly,

searching for meaning

in its mounting opposition

that threatens to claw,

tearing at its heart

once inherent to one,

now made separate.

And in aftermaths in future,

in visions foreseen

in the idyllic whisps

of coffee room dreams,

the screaming is permitted to cease

and has no floor to stand on.

The supports shudder

and are no longer.

This body moves on.

( ❤ Mitch)

The Bastardization of Theory

Draw it up exactly as was told.

Traverse from A to B in rehearsed tones,

bounding up and down familiar phrases

where the destination is cemented in expectation.

The notes hold a smile to purchase,

no different than the neighbor’s song

and the neighbors of their own and the neighbors of past.


Lay it all bare on global waves

while strolling down the path most traveled.

The grass can only get so high until the jungle becomes the home:

The cutthroat utopia where all is predetermined,

the predator is king,

his legions are the apex,

and the space beyond is uncharted desert.


Read it in discarded expressions.

Drink it in from secondhand inspiration.

A cardboard cutout cell comes courtesy of constructed fantasies,

penned up behind idyllic white lines across the lawn.


Never stray from the flock.

Repeat all the right words,

their veracity assured by the carnivore czars,

teeth shining in plastic grins.


Repeat all the right words.

One size sentence fits all.


Step on halfheartedly without a personal dream to adhere to.

Step on or choke on the questions that lurk under the throat,

threatening to boil over the tongue for the grievances never spoken,

yet ever growing in their strength,

feasting on the confusion of a waste laden road

where rank and file, all are sorted and promptly escorted

into the great known.


Drop the pen.

Let it recede into polluted imaginations

where currency is in control.

Snap off a branch from the jungle

and carve an arching route away from skyscraper skies.

No protections await.

No guards to strap one inside the box.

No rails to grip onto.

Only an unknown that beckons,

ever so tantalizing,

where the uncertain end is more alive than the concrete,

and the notes are improvised.


Accept the fear of failure but do not shiver.

From loss and setback comes strength to survive.

In the exterior of fabricated freedoms,

the creator is king.

Accept the crown.

( ❤ Mitch)

Thoughtpiece: Hitting 200!

Well hello again, everyone! It feels as though I was only recently posting about how I had hit 100 total followers on my humble blog here. I had never expected to reach such a milestone as quickly as I did, and yet it seems as though the website has experienced continuous growth since then. It truly is a surprise, but I am so very thankful for everyone that stops by, reads what I put down to paper (or Word doc… potato pahtahto!), and leaves a follow or a like. To the you, my fair visitor, it probably doesn’t mean much. To me, it is an incredible gesture. Every follow is another step towards one day making a living out of my passion for writing. That is a difficult goal to reach, naturally, and I am acutely aware of how far away exactly I am from even scratching the surface. However, I approach that objective bit by bit daily, which is all thanks to those that have supported me and continue to do so.

So, where do we go from here? I suppose it’s important to update my general life situation, as I am currently in a position that complicates my usual posting regiment. I am currently enrolled in my final year of college, with my major being in the education field. Because of this, much of my morning routine is spent instructing students or hurriedly making lesson plans to try and get by in life. It is only slightly (read: absolutely) stressful! One downside of this is that I cannot reliably get my material out on time, and I’m occasionally so burnt out mentally that it’s difficult to engage with writing overall. Essentially, my productivity is being hampered by the unfortunate responsibilities of an extraordinarily tiresome career choice. I’m going to be doing my best to keep up, so I hope you understand if I falter a bit. I’m counting down the days to graduation, where I will hopefully be done with all things related to college and education. I learned far too late that I have no desire to teach, and institutions do a laughably poor job of preparing people to do so. For now, I just gotta push through until I get my magic paper and move on to the next chapter of life.

I am still going to be here and I’m still going to be writing; I just cannot guarantee that it will be as consistent as observed in prior months. These following weeks are going to be a certain test of my strength, which is not even mentioning the fact that what I plan to do with my future is completely nebulous. Thank you all that are reading this for sticking with me through this period, and I sincerely hope you continue to do so! I still keep myself busy by submitting to magazines, tossing out new poetry ideas, jamming to music, and posting reviews, so all is not dire! I’ve also recently acquired a microphone as a belated Christmas gift. Though I’ve yet to use it, this opens up a lot of possibilities for how I can exhibit my content going forward. Considered my background in spoken word, I’d definitely enjoy crafting a YouTube channel to diversify what gets posted, adding a performance element to my works. I’ve never shared a choice few pieces here due to their design being tailored to a live setting, or at least a particular vocal delivery. These could see the light of day if I dive into another large media market.

If you’ve made it this far: thank you again, sincerely. I know I repeat that a lot, but I genuinely am touched by the increase in activity I’ve seen here. It has given me confidence in my poetry that I never had before. Most importantly, it has demonstrated to me that it perhaps IS possible to carve out a niche with my creative endeavors. I’m not naïve enough to assume it’s a sure thing or that I’m really anywhere near such an achievement. I knew going into this WordPress website it’d be a longshot that could easily fizzle out in a few weeks, off into obscurity like so many others before me. But I am going to try, and I have the courage to roll the dice. I appreciate each and every one of you that are along with me for the ride.

Much love,

❤ Mitch

There will be a new poem up in about 2 hours, so stay tuned 🙂

Walked to a Cliff to Walk Back

The choice had been robbed from me

in obscurity of emotional insecurity.

Shades drawn with the chill of the freezer leaking,

the silent film dotted the room in the stains of coping,

not once overheard for voices were kept low,

confined to a grimace come every instance where edges turn vibrant,

playing savior to deprecation,

lining up limbs in row to tally off each show,

ran on the daily for the unavoidable episode,

yet still in the quiet with shades drawn,

a freezer leaking,

a grimace concealing.


In the collision of circumstance when years removed,

the screen possesses a mind of its own,

refusing stray blows to succumb to silence,

bending but unbreakable to an assault from over the counter.

No sleight of hand can transform memory

or the remembrance it offers as written upon my skin,

defying orders to sink below to match a brighter color

even when a call for a future beckons greater than before.

I’m consigned to a willingness to write the conclusion.


Though stood with steadiness in appearance,

the movements I make cause a constant quake as I try to forge away,

the shockwave soldiers crusading to sack the soul.

Peeling back the blinds lets only a sliver in

to melt away the ice age left to flourish in isolated confines.

It’s barely enough to call a progression to uncertainty,

but when rising from the bed and feeling water grace my toes,

I feel a slight assurance

that one day my dreams may beat my fears,

and march a fragment of me across the decade line.

Then one day I may make my dreams

from make believe and into an open door,

roaring through halls on a rushing river,

for the one day I may win against my fears.


And one day the screen will flicker to black,

and in a blank reflection I’ll be caught shouting in color,

wrapped so tightly in the coil of a razor,

damning the urge to a depth below soil

where the buried remains of coping lay.

And in that embrace, I will shrug off the restraints,

And place no hope in a knowing dead end,

for I’ve found courage in uncertainty,

where the day will come where I win against my fears

and never be caught silent again.

( ❤ Mitch)