You Can Call it a Monet

If we met back when we were kids, how much of this would have been reversed?

How much of anything could have been changed instead of living in stasis?

If I keep guessing with these “what-if’s,” will it change your mind?

Take your time: waiting is a game we play for all our lives.

I’ll spend my freedom on some empty words and self-assurance,

arm-in-arm with my brothers-and-sisters in arms:

Lovingly twisting each and bending until we break.

There’s no telling when the tension is going to flow over.

We’re trying to push the envelope until we tear it to pieces.

I’ll wait and circle around like a shark;

my esteem is low enough as the ocean floor.

Every moment I’m hoping you’ll be back for more:

Think of the nights nestled in cloth with a vinyl disc spinning lazily,

our hands intertwined, spun in silk so delicately.

Think of the days in the sun with songs erupting from our hearts

and the rays of color refracting from the sky between our eyes.

And if you think of any more, will it become real enough for me touch?

Or can I just think of it myself and cover for you?

I’ll trick myself into thinking it’s not my loss to count

during all those times together with our brothers-and-sisters in arms,

closer and closer every day as we cope and laugh at our words,

bringing our smiles so close but our hearts at a distance.

It’s the impressions that matter the most to me;

the seconds of love that pass too quick to see.

I’m painting a photo of you and me for when we leave this scene.

I never really was, but what if I was?

What if anything I though was real?

What if I thought you loved me?

Nothing more has to be said; he’s calling for you again.

No more has to be said; I guess you can go home again.

( ❤ Mitch)


And That Day, the Clouds Marched Away

I was trying to talk

but you were worrying about the cracks in the sidewalk.

Too many old tales from too many old friends

made you think one wrong step and you’re dead.

Words are a struggle if you turn to tug-of-war,

and when it comes to aggression, I’m clearly not your type.

Take care in the way your mouth moves,

keep an open mind whenever the wind blows,

because a movement is a movement no matter how it moves.

The world won’t revolve around absolutes.

The way you work, you’re keeping your enemies close and the worse of the lot closer,

holding that shield steady to keep anyone from reaching in,

bracing for a rainstorm on a clear day,

too busy with your thoughts that they all drifted away.

I wrapped my life into a ball and tried to see where it’d roll.

It didn’t go as planned—nothing ever goes as planned.

Stay a level head and a level mind,

for when you stumble along there’s shelter to find.

Days will come where you’ll play the blind man and shut your eyelids on life

when the world turns and turns around the here and now,

closing off ears and sealing mouths shut to dull any sense,

not caring to know the color you miss.

It’s been so long since we’ve talked and it will be forever until we really do.

Here’s a note passed between desks, between the words we shot over the bow.

I stayed up until the sun came up last night,

and I found that I wasn’t able to breathe;

no tears, no screams, no anger and no fears.

I had been laughing for so long and never felt better in my life.

( ❤ Mitch)

Promises Came with Threats

I’m so content with myself tonight.

I said some bullshit philosophy and created some hate against you.

Satisfied with the way I’ve put more fault in your mistakes and how I made you my enemy.

I’m so content with closing my door tonight.

The less I know, the better I’ll feel by the end of the day.

No more photographs and evidence of how you’ve been away.

Leave me ignorant to escapades and bar room tabs.

I’ll hide behind my own misinformation and pretend you’re still the same.

Your memories are playing games with me.

You’re at your best when you’re nowhere near me.

We placed our bet on distance but we forgot to do the numbers.

Math was never my best; I’ll put the blame on you.

Trying to get you to stay was never my best; I’ll put the blame on you.

Keeping you in my arms was never my best; I’ll put the blame on you.

Because you can take it.

Every thought I have left of you can bear it for me.

Take on the weight and keep me afloat, keep me away from it.

It’s a small favor to ask for the trouble we went through.

The less I know, the more blame I’ll put on you.

I’ll force you down and out with all the strength I can give.

I’ll force you out so you can leave

and stop haunting me

and never be my ghost.

Or I’ll do the same to you, no matter what you do.

I’ll do the same to you, be that demon for you.

( ❤ Mitch)

Wanting to But Not Being Able to Want to

The echoes thundering out my bedroom window haven’t left since the day I unraveled.

The ghosts in the walls maintain their movements as if locked in place.

They’re sneaking under the sheets and burying under the carpet,

concealed in a fortress of dust.

I tried to stamp them out but they break and attach,

track on my footsteps from the hospital to that place six feet under the ground.

They’re telling stories of you and me and all of those endless hypotheticals,

delving into the theoretical of what binds an eyesight to another;

the same questions that drain your heart and impose inaction when common sense begs motion.

If only you weren’t so poetic, I would have burned you all down if I could,

stripping planks and fabric to exterminate the thought.

But that grip you keep on my shoulder is a comfort every time I feel its pinch.

Maintain that rigid control with your handcuffs.

I’m bound and bound to always be bound by a repeating drama.

It’s enough to render me sleepless,

throwing myself into old photographs that hurt more than help.

I can’t tell anymore if I’m my own antagonist for remembering each regret they portray

and holding on to it, weighing my eyelids down.

If anyone asks, I’m not going out.

If anyone asks, I’m still at the start.

If you’re wandering on the old street and those neighborhood haunts,

I’m still at home.

I’m listening to static in my eardrums and watching my alarm clock march forward.

Time is progressing but my life is falling backward.

If anyone asks, I never left the room.


( ❤ Mitch)

Visual Replays Now in Stereo Format

Working another graveyard shift with your emotions.

You’re hiding behind your mechanical smile and not giving anything away.

Geometrically, you are symmetrically in line horizontal and vertical,

though if you give me the time, I’ll find your cracks.

I don’t ask for your money or any of your rewards,

but if I make it through, I hope you can recognize me.

Turn your eyes and see me for the first time.

Scars are opening like a waterfall.

I guess I messed up somehow.

I’m shouting “Once more, again,” and I’m lying on the same damn floor.

I took a chance at stealing your face,

lost the race to another man.

Now I am falling back to old habits,

like all those old friends that threw me out the window.

“Once more, again.”

If I was born with the strength, I would’ve asked for you to change.

I would have tried to change the course.

I would have tried to say my words,

But I choked on them instead.

Felt them jam inside my throat

And punish me for speaking.

Please don’t ever look my way again.

I’m surrendering to industry—all hail progress to namelessness.

You’re just another somebody I’ll never be able to hold.


(<3 Mitch)

Having a Domestic with an Inanimate Object

“Having a Domestic with an Inanimate Object”

It left hidden in the full moon’s glow,

driving into the open and out of my sight,

and I was all alone,

and I felt so damn lost and stranded.

Whenever you called, I was never far away,

purging my reserve just to preserve you day by day.

In your every photograph there was only error—each reflection broken,

but in those images I saw something greater.

I gave you shoulders to stand on,

a roof above your head.

I gave you the confidence to stand up,

and your mouth the right words to speak.

I gave my every word to stay by you

and opened up my heart,

and you gave me a door and a shove

and made me taste the pavement.

You’ll be looking out your rearview mirror for the rest of your life,

seeing those reflections of a self you cut with a knife.

I never knew I’d been betrayed until you shut the door and walked away,

made dreams return to being dreams and memories gain a sour taste.

Stop lingering on this ground: it speaks too much about what was.

This isn’t your home anymore.

There’s no time to waste.

You’ve got a brand-new face that every boy on every corner knows.

I’ll pass by you, used up and alone, as you come undone.


(<3 Mitch)

The French Revolution was a Hoax

Is this the way that you would have wanted it to end?

Leaving me running circles in my own damn head?

Trying to figure out every word coming through your mouth

and I’m drowning in hidden meanings striking like daggers in my back.

Is this how I’m repaid for all the things I lack?

There’s no one outside of this shell that’d be sooner to admit my imperfections.

Within the minute, I’m going live and I’m willing to broadcast my mistakes.

These motions, these changes,

they’re not moving or changing anything.

But inside every small moment, every moment where my mind opens up and the real voice is heard,

I feel a release.

This is how I’ll part from you:


Switching methods and modes too confusing for anyone to handle.

Any attempts turn into something sharp and loud music screaming about how fucked I am.

Every bottle dotting my floor and every piece of paper torn and scattered

testifies to how my grasp on reality is anything but centered.

These motions, these changes,

they’re not moving or changing anything.

But inside every small moment, every moment where my mind opens up and the real voice is heard,

I feel a release.

So I guess you either grow old and grow over it, or your roots will grow crooked and never break soil.

I asked up and down for instructions, but the author of my life story called in sick.

I’m under a guillotine and forced to choose between saving you or losing my head.

Anything that helps to get me to an eternal bed.


(this is an older one, and one I’ve shared to people a fair bit before. I think it’s a bit of a favorite of mine. Thanks for reading! ❤ Mitch)

An Introduction to the Blog

Open the curtains!

Well, here goes nothing. I’m going to give this a serious try and maintain a website through which I will be hosting my poetry. Many of these works will be older material that have been shared before but need a new home. Others will be new. Further material has yet to come! The inspiration is always flowing and I intend to keep up on it no matter what. This is what I want to dedicate myself towards at the present time; no half measures are going to be given here.

So, to those that read: what is there to expect? Primarily, I will be using this outlet to post poetry from my personal catalogue. Through this, I want to try and reach a broader audience, sharing my creations with others, talking with viewers, and so on. Being able to get more people involved in music and checked out reviews would be a nice bonus! All in all, I want to keep at a passion of mine by providing a sort of obligation of sorts. It is going to be an objective of mine to keep this blog alive and thriving. I have started multiple story ideas, game concepts, and other creative ventures, only to abandon them over time through loss of motivation. Having a website to tend to will presumably keep me more in check than usual. This has helped me stay on top of music and reviewing due to my responsibilities as a contributor; I intend to replicate the same behavior here, if possible.

Anyone that decides to visit is so very appreciated from the bottom of my heart. Poems for me are an expression of my purest form of self, where I have nothing but honesty for the page that receives my words. If you so choose to partake in reading any of these instances of myself being split open, you have made my day. If you enjoy or find some meaning in anything I create, you have floored me, because that’s all an artist can ever hope to do, even for a relative amateur like myself.

I’ll cut myself off now before I ramble too long, but rambling may happen! I want to use this as a creative space for writing that doesn’t focus on reviewing. Maybe my personal musings will be here, or maybe I’ll drop short stories (very short!) or what have you. The bottom line is this: I am going to use this to try and push my writing to the next level. I greatly appreciate anyone that’s along for the journey!

❤ Mitch