Michael Alli's Poetry

The poetry posted here in no way reflects Michael Alli's mindset or thought process. All poems created were solely for his Creative Writing class based off writing prompts.

[michaelallipoetry-blog]

DISTANCE

I want to see actual growth. 

Meeting you later in life and see that your accomplishments, exceed far more than the ones visioned for you. 

Knowing every minute you had to yourself was used towards achieving your dreams.

Seeing that all your insecurities washed away permanently from your conscious.

Hearing all your faith is in God, rather than people.

Believing that it was better for you to go through things without my presence.

Wiping the tears from my eyes, at the sight of the final version of you years later.

Only time will tell

- Dad

[michaelallipoetry-blog]

Last Night

-

The pain in my head.

Last night was a blur.

The hickeys on my neck and

scratch marks on my back as

I peered towards the mirror.

The weakness in my legs

as I walk towards the couch.

The room is a mess with

foreign articles of clothing

scattered everywhere.

Lying my back on the couch

staring at the ceiling.

Only thing running through

my thoughts, are possible scenarios

from last night.

-

Running my hands through her hair.

The vibrant glow in her cheeks as

we kissed each other passionately.

All the hairs on both my arms began to rise

as she pushed me onto my back.

Both of our eyes met staring at my belt buckle,

which she insisted on removing for herself.

Her shirt up over her head.

Unclipped her bra strap and

proceeded to kiss her from the

top of her neck to her waist line

slowly. The sounds of her moans caused

a frenzy. Arms wrapped around her and

back to the wall. Suspended in the air with her

legs wrapped around me. The moans

grew louder and louder….

-

Rushing into the room and slamming the door.

Pulling my pants down and falling over.

She laughed at me and demanded

that I hurry up and meet her on the bed.

I couldn’t even remember her name.

Giggling and chuckling in between our kisses.

The smell of vodka and and her perfume

engulfing my nostrils as our tongues

danced in horrible unison.

Pulling back my head in order to

keep all the alcohol consumed

down my throat and not into the

opposite direction.

-

Shoved into a dark room onto a bed.

The sound of heels walking across

the room. The evil laugh of a women

is heard positioned perfectly above my face.

A sudden stinging pain to my inner

thigh and the cracking of what sounds

like a whip. The laugh turns shrill and

strains my ears. I attempt to get up but

a quick observation later and realize

my limbs are strapped down to the

bed posts. Suddenly a candle is lit

and slowly approaching my legs.

Almost as if it is levitating towards

the bed by its own will. The candle

suddenly tips over and the candle

wax……

-

Breaking my train of thoughts

was the sound of the toilet flushing?

Before I was quick enough

to rise up from the couch.

A sudden slam of the front door

and footsteps running down the hallway.

The mysterious stranger was gone.

Not a name

Not a face

Not a word

Just a potential memory out of

many, circulating my brain

to remember her by.

[michaelallipoetry-blog]

Life

Born into this world

With your life already defined

Born into this world

With only your name and skin pigment

Born into this world

With no choice of your destiny

You are another statistic

You are another number added to a graph calculating the death toll

You are a target wherever you go

You are constantly placed in the iron sights of a gun.

Your life is always based off the life of a common stereotype

The stereotypes will follow you around like a creep in the night

Or the cops that harass you on your way home

The journey you take in this game

We call “life” is defined by your skin

The journey we take in this game

We call “life”  is no longer defined by your soul or your drive

The journey we take in this game

We call “life” is shortened by ignorance

[michaelallipoetry-blog]

Poetic Memoir

Number:

               Inked into your skin at the entrance of the camp, all of your belongings taken away from you. Your name is stripped from you and now your belongings. Even the gold cap in your mouth, you got for your birthday. The smell of ash in the air, followed by the black smoke. You start to feel your knees give in because of that long ride in the cargo trains from the ghettos. You see despair all around you and hear the cries and moans. You see families being separated into groups by men and women. The daughters go with the mothers, the teenage boys with the fathers. The path the women are headed onto leads straight to the building where the black smoke comes from. But where the men are leaded to, is an inventory room with stripped uniforms. You fall into line with the men. You say your prayers and hope this is only temporary. Not knowing the dramatic change your life is going to go through.

Monster:

               You have no family. You were an orphan, never experienced love. You had no girlfriend or counterpart. You spent time alone. Never got to experience Christmas with presents snuggled under the Christmas tree. Mornings, afternoons, and nights were always the same. You lived on the streets. You made money anyway possible but it was never enough. The streets of Mexico were starting to become more dangerous in broad daylight than in the dead of the night. Your last option was to become a hitman for the cartel. You became accustomed to the lifestyle sooner than expected. The job required you to stay low and have no traceable background history. It required 100% obedience when given your mission. You had no issue with that. You know why? Because you were never spared from anything. You’ve never learned the value of life or experienced compassion. You’ve always wonder when your day would come and you would be put out of suffering. So how can you express compassion for another person in the barrel sight of your gun? You’ve become exactly what the streets raised you up to be. A heartless teenage Mons…

Faces:

               Your face is an attribute to your success in the modeling world. But sometimes you wonder if that’s all there is to you? Is your purpose on this earth really just for this? Just to be told when to lose weight and be told when your best isn't good enough? You have doubts now constantly running through your mind. You walk away from the modeling agency line. There is a mirror on the wall towards the exit. You look at your face and start to think about things. You think about all your strengths and weaknesses. You look back and realize if you walk out on this, there is no coming back. You reach for the door handle, then feel yourself let go. You feel your legs dragging back to the end of the line. There’s a small cry you hear on the inside. It’s that moment of realization that you can do so much with that pretty face. Sure there could be something on the other side, but the risk Is too great for you to take. You settle and never find happiness.

Crowd:

               April 15,2015. Martin is so excited about the Boston Marathon. He’s wearing his all black track suit, in efforts to avoid catching a cold. He does not want to miss class tomorrow. He is singing on the car ride to the marathon. He is so excited to see the runners cross the finish line. He left school early today just to catch a good view of the finish line. He loved Boston so much that he even wore Patriots football t-shirt and Boston Celtics jersey, on the same day under his tracksuit. He loved running at on the field and skating on the ice rink. He played soccer, baseball, street hockey and flag football. He is there with his family including his little sister Jane. It’s just him and his sister standing on the barricades trying to catch a good view of the finish line. Martin yells because he can see the runners in the distance! All of a sudden BOOM! Martin feels a sharp pain in his body. He hears the screams of Jane and feels numb. He sees Jane’s leg bleeding, nails, plastic, pellets and wood all over the place. He falls down and can’t feel his left arm,  almost as if it’s severed from his body. He closes his eyes. The end of a life…. for Martin Richard. The youngest victim of the Boston Marathon Bombings.

Psychosis:

               Adam waits in the hall, as his mother is in the conference room. He is wondering what they could be possibly talking about He hears the word psychotic in the mix of all the words thrown around. He starts to break out in a sweat and his leg starts to shake uncontrollably. He takes his journal of all his thoughts and rips up all the pages. He knows he should’ve never shared the notebook with Sally. He hates her and he starts slamming his fists into his forehead. He is angry and frustrated. He wants to hurt her. He wants to hurt his classmates. He wants to hurt his teachers. He wants to hurt everyone. All of a sudden,he hears his mother yell “My son ADAM LANZA is not psychotic!”. She storms out the room and slams the door. She hugs Adam and tells him “EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE ALRIGHT” “DON’T LET ANYONE TELL YOU SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH YOU”. She grabs his hand and walks off the school campus. The teachers watch them from the window. They look at each other in grief. They don't think thats the last time. they will hear about Adam Lanza.

[michaelallipoetry-blog]

Colors

Beloved family members and childhood friends leaving life, unexpectedly. The color of the heartbeats slowing and attire for funerals matching each other so well.  

Losing the joy in seeing the beautiful skies you once pondered into for hours on hours in the meadow-y grass. The sky no longer illuminated by the sun.

Abjectly the animals hide in their respected dens. As if they can sense this dark aura set for the day by a greater force in the universe.

Closed eyes from all of the attendants at the burial. Closed to put a cease to the tears that would otherwise leave a salty taste in their mouth. Eyes shut so they pretend this is just one big dream.

Kneeling in the darkness, some are found asking God. One question every time. One word. One cry. WHY?

  Raging through the body with hatred, all logic or sensible thinking ingored. Blood boiling as the fists start to clench, and the nails start digging into palms as you slowly slip into insanity.

Evolving from hatred toward one person. It soon becomes hate towards everyone. Vision clouded and unfocused. All other beings are alienated and considered the opposition.

Denounced by others for experiencing this rage. Only causing more anger to be pumped into the overflowing gas tank of irate thoughts.

  Boat rocking on the clear waters off the coast of Isla Cedros in Mexico

Listening to the small waves crashing against the boat as the seagulls cry out from up above, searching and scrambling for food.

Ugly are the elephant male seals in the distance basking in the sun with their wrinkly disfigured skin on the beach.

Enticing onlookers with their distinctive colors and shapes, the viable succulent plants and cacti resting in the dry soil.

  Going in and out of mud pits, passing through huge tree leaves with small trinkets of water traveling down its stem.

Retracing your steps in hopes of not getting lost in the rainforest, the raindrops crashing down on your head as hard as cement.

Entering a deeper level of hunger. Your stomach growling louder than the mysterious sounds in the rainforest.

Earthly smells fill your nostrils. You break down with knees deep in the soil.

Neglecting the fact that you’re slowly sinking. You start to come into terms with the fact this the end. The whole time you’re thinking about what steps lead to this. You are already neck deep in quicksand.

  Perfecting and cleansing the body of all things deemed as imperfect by the patient.

Inserting a knife into the buttocks and having the liquid fat and lipids seep out.

Now focusing on the stomach, removing the fat of the patient. While checking her heart rate.

Killing his patient due to the careless negligence would be career suicide. So every move made from now on, will be with her life on the line.

[michaelallipoetry-blog]

1st Vs 3rd

-The comfortability to reschedule mandatory flu shots and dentist appointments. When you don’t feel like waking up on time for it. The ability to control the temperature within your household by a button on the thermostat. When you’re too lazy to change into proper attire for the climate. The negligence to leave the water running in the shower. Just for you to scroll down your feed on your phone a little bit longer. The ungratefulness you show when you don’t receive the new pair of shoes you want. Just for them to be worn once and thrown into your closet. This disatiffication shown when you’re not given your full allowance from your hard working parents. But still promised to receive all of it on time next week. The ability to breath in fresh air and fill your lungs with. Only to pollute it with the carbon dioxide from your chain smoking.

-The uncertainty of getting vaccines for the virus and let alone being able to afford it. The inability to avoid the cold draft let in from the cracks in the walls. Or the exhaustion experienced from the heat when there’s no electricity to power the AC. Treasuring every drop of water uncertain when it’ll turn off. Limping and aching from the pain in your feet because of the holes in your shoes. The face of disappointment when you realize you can’t afford it. The painful coughing that you experience every time you step outside, from the intoxicating air.

[michaelallipoetry-blog]

Last Night

-

The pain in my head.

Last night was a blur.

The hickeys on my neck and

scratch marks on my back as

I peered towards the mirror.

The weakness in my legs

as I walk towards the couch.

The room is a mess with

foreign articles of clothing

scattered everywhere.

Lying my back on the couch

staring at the ceiling.

Only thing running through

my thoughts, are possible scenarios

from last night.

-

Running my hands through her hair.

The vibrant glow in her cheeks as

we kissed each other passionately.

All the hairs on both my arms began to rise

as she pushed me onto my back.

Both of our eyes met staring at my belt buckle,

which she insisted on removing for herself.

Her shirt up over her head.

Unclipped her bra strap and

proceeded to kiss her from the

top of her neck to her waist line

slowly. The sounds of her moans caused

a frenzy. Arms wrapped around her and

back to the wall. Suspended in the air with her

legs wrapped around me. The moans

grew louder and louder….

-

Rushing into the room and slamming the door.

Pulling my pants down and falling over.

She laughed at me and demanded

that I hurry up and meet her on the bed.

I couldn’t even remember her name.

Giggling and chuckling in between our kisses.

The smell of vodka and and her perfume

engulfing my nostrils as our tongues

danced in horrible unison.

Pulling back my head in order to

keep all the alcohol consumed

down my throat and not into the

opposite direction.

-

Shoved into a dark room onto a bed.

The sound of heels walking across

the room. The evil laugh of a women

is heard positioned perfectly above my face.

A sudden stinging pain to my inner

thigh and the cracking of what sounds

like a whip. The laugh turns shrill and

strains my ears. I attempt to get up but

a quick observation later and realize

my limbs are strapped down to the

bed posts. Suddenly a candle is lit

and slowly approaching my legs.

Almost as if it is levitating towards

the bed by its own will. The candle

suddenly tips over and the candle

wax……

-

Breaking my train of thoughts

was the sound of the toilet flushing?

Before I was quick enough

to rise up from the couch.

A sudden slam of the front door

and footsteps running down the hallway.

The mysterious stranger was gone.

Not a name

Not a face

Not a word

Just a potential memory out of

many, circulating my brain

to remember her by.