By: Jackson Michniak

No inspiration

Stuck with a barren mind

Forced to think on the spot

Wandering thoughts

Trying to make something

Anything of use

Stuck following guidelines

Thought process halted

Stuck formulating ideas

Lost in my mind

Looking for ideas

Distracted by unrelated things

Looking for a way to close

To end it

Please let me find it

The perfect final line

Still stuck in this hole

The hole called poetry

No way to climb out

Line after line

I dig myself deeper

Reusing ideas

Repeating myself in my head

Slowly going insane 

Mind going dry

Losing fresh ideas

Boredom sets in

Looking for inspiration

In something, anything

No matter how hard I look

I never find any

Back to where I started

With a dry mind

By: Jackson Michniak

The wind on my back

That one stride ended it all

Hard concrete, wrist bends

By Jackson Michniak

I believe in humanity

I believe in their creative power

And their tendency to make wonders

I believe that they will bring about their own destruction

I’ve been nowhere and everywhere

I am shy yet curious

I have been connected

Yet disconnected at the same time

I’ve seen the homeless being fed

Refugees being sheltered

I’ve seen battlefields old and new

And sites of atrocities

I’ve seen the past, the present

And many possible futures

I need luck

I need to be connected

I need a calling

A purpose

I need to make the right choices

So I don’t tread the wrong path

I will become an observer

Who acts when he needs to

Yet stay anonymous 

I will become a ghost

Know by a name that is not mine

I will fade away one day

Leaving nothing but the path I took

By: Jackson Michniak

There’s this little thing called life

It’s unpredictable and meaningless

You’re born and you die

There’s no telling when or how or why

Just one day, it all ends

You could be a good person, and get shot at 16

Or a demon in human form and die of old age

It doesn’t matter who you are, life doesn’t care about you

People say it’s what comes in between that matters

Why do we do anything in our lives

We’ll all die someday

People can do something with their lives

But that’s only true for a select few

An individual can change the world

Or die without doing anything

It doesn’t matter what you do in the end

Everyone treats this thing called life like a gem

But it doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things

You’re meaningless life is only a spec of time to the universe

You don’t matter at all

What you do is meaningless

You live and die

It’s as simple as that

In the end you’re just a walking corpse

Passing time with distractions like jobs and other corpses

Waiting to be put in your grave

By: Jackson Michniak

You say you won’t judge

But I know you

You secretly judge

Everyone you come across

Deep down you’re judging everyone in some way

You can judge their clothes

The way they act 

Or their ideas

Nobody is safe from your eye

The eye of judgement

I know this

Because I know you better than anyone

Because I am one of you

A part of you

A part of society

By: Jackson Michniak

No matter what they tell you, you are unique

You are a shining moonbeam

Even if you’re weak

Some may call you a freak

And you may want to scream

No matter what they tell you, you are unique

I know it may look bleak

But you have to follow your dream

Even if you’re weak

Some may call you meek

Don’t listen to the regime

No matter what they tell you, you are unique

Don’t worry about your physique

You will always be supreme

Even if you’re weak

They may make fun of your techniques 

They may tear you at the seams

No what they tell you, you are unique

Even if you are weak

By: Jackson Michniak

I absolutely despise poetry

It doesn’t matter what kind is assigned
It has a deadly kind of potency
It will always destroys my state of mind
It’s just line after line of straight bullshit
Just one mention of it and I feel weak
Poetry is just one big mental tar pit
I don’t find any of it to be unique
I always find it remarkably bland
To me it just doesn’t really appeal
Some people love it like it’s their right hand
I guess I can understand how they feel
But alas, poetry is not for me
It is the fruit of a poisonous tree

By: Jackson Michniak

There is no such thing as freedom in society

It’s only ruled by laws and piety

Everyone is a cog in the system

Forced to tend to the tainted “ecosystem”

There is only true freedom on the plains

Away from all the pain

Where there are deer

And nature is all you hear

But I am stuck in this putrid sinkhole

Paved with manholes

Filled with corruption

And noisy disruptions 

I need to live with the birds

Who have no spoken words

Where I can be truly free

And smell the sea

But all I smell now is smog

The corners are lined with watch dogs

Who abuse their power

And bend your will power