Micah Park Biffle

A New Kid A New Challenge  This is the sixth house in past two years. Things are always changing and my roots are never settled. I am young, so much of my world is based around my friends. It's difficult at this point to even want to make friends.  I remain in this constant status of hovering, of always keeping my roots just above ground. I allow them to hold to the top of the soil. Just enough to keep me sustained during the cold nights alone. This allows me to never completely settle upon any one place, allowing me to detach in a moments notice. I make friends, but I don't get too close. It's hard sometimes not too, you find some great friends and you want to become best friends, but you know you could be moving at any time. Some places, unfortunately never allow me to make friends. I show up as the new kid and am instantly placed as an outcast. Some schools are harsher than others, I realize this now. But it is challenging to always be the new kid, to always ...

A Murdered Love of War Three hundred and sixty-five days since she held him in her arms. Her whole body swept up in anxious fright and joy. She thinks to herself, "Will he remember me? Will he still love me?" She throws on her best dress and lipstick; looks herself in the mirror and says, " I am gonna go the hair salon and strike myself the hair of an angel!" Still looking herself in the mirror she twirls around with a large smile, "Oh my, I can feel my heart beating against my chest." She smiles and lets out a small giggle. She stops twirling and slides her hands down her sides, over her hips to make sure the dress forms perfectly to her body. She then places a hat upon her head to hide her wild hair before it is touched by her stylist Mary. She quickly steps over to her closet, picks up her red heels and she rushes out her room and down the stairs. She reaches the bottom of the stairs and places on her heels. While struggling to keep her ...

An Unfortunate Story   His slumber is deep, his heart is light. But in the midst of a midnight hour, a knock reaches his door. He quickly wakes from the resounding sound of the knock. His eyes slowly adjust to the pitch black surroundings. He turns to the left side of his body, reaching into the darkness feeling for a candle. In his blind state upon the dark night, he finds the candle at the edge of his night stand. His steady but somewhat worrisome tact, he almost knocks the candle from its rightful place. But he catches it with the embrace of his index and thumb. He reels it in with slight struggle and sits up in bed.  Again, he hears the knock. His head promptly turns toward the noise. He stills himself as he listens for the knock once more. But it ceases, and as the silence coats his home in an eerie hold. He leans to his left once again and opens the drawer to his night stand. A distinct sound of old wood composes itself from the drawer.  Onc...

Our Overthinking Into Fear Where do you go, what do you do, how do you do it? This I cannot tell you, for we are complex in our overthinking. We bring in thoughts that hinder us, thoughts built upon pretenses. On things we have given life to from the curation of others. We build fears from observations or our quickly fading past.  And as we live by these absurd fears, we only bring our demise early. We become a withering flower to the ever falling sun. Only to become a decayed skeletal of wasteful tears.  And those mornings we wake in the arms of melancholy, or the strangling of our throats from the tedious hands of anxiety. We fondle our thoughts, ourselves, to the glutenous mouth of doubt.  We worry for things that have yet to happen, or have already happened. We bring fear through fiction of what horrors we believe shall transpire. Rather than what beauty may result in the attempt to go beyond our fear. And if we are such magnificent creatures,...

The Harshness Of Perfection Upon Regret I am relentless in the expectations of myself. Harsh you might say, the unwillingness to ever say anything is at my best. Always pushing my boundaries, but this desire, this need to always be striving for the next challenge, for this perfect picture of victory. Thwarts the happiness that lies with me.    I fail in the honoring of my sacrifices, my accomplishments, which leaves me burdened, hollow in each victorious stride. It leaves me in a petrified state of being underachieved. That nothing I do is worthy of my praise nor others. I cloud myself in a vast empty hall, cold with breath, as I pull words from thin air. Hoping these will be the words that excite me. The words that will drive me to the bliss I seek. But this anatomical rock of life agitates me of any wishes to sit still. To confine myself to the pleasures of my doings, too much is at hand. And time stands still for no man. And I, regretful of my past, still hang ...

Present your soul with a gift A Man's Traveled Heart The Victim Of Sheep In an instant it was gone, all of it. The wolf had sank its teeth into what breath was left. And I, helpless to the scene before me. I watched in horror as the sound of flesh was pierced by pearled teeth, eyes glaring from darkness. All was taken, all was forsaken. My heart became ill but I could set no motion into existence. For it was not I whom became the victim of the sheep. I was not the one whom'd screamed for freedom but lived in feign. Acting to be a scarecrow of sorrow, left alone in the fields of misery. For I pulled myself from the withering corn and led myself to the open grains of wheat. And as blood gushed from paling flesh, it spilled in rhythm from the mouth of the wolf. And the teeth held strong, as the sheep squirmed with little resistance. But no panic came from me, for some fall victim to their own annihilation. Following the trail of paralyzed. Listening too closely to their...

Abused But Not Hopeless Three children and alone, abused in the last torment of what she thought was the opportunity of blooming lilies. Hoping to string them across her neck in the display of artistry between her and the love she had for her relationship. But quickly were the flowers trampled on beneath her mans lack of self-esteem. Bridging his hate for himself upon her and her children. And oh did he show it well, his hatred for himself. Sly in his words but weak in his actions. Raising his hand not only to her, but to the children. Leaving bruises, welts, eyes that would bring one to shiver upon seeing such brutality. His ever so false chivalry would play well after the fact. Creating his sorrow to be theirs, reaching for forgiveness but with horns. Hiding his scars, creating the children to be a burden to his wealth and his mental well-being. Nights would pass and not a single plate of food would be served. For she had no job, and his tongue would speak ugly to her own...

Facebook A Spineless Beast  You spineless beast, you coward. Bleeding your words from behind curtains of lies. Traveling with baggage that burden you, much uneasy to each train you ride. But much could whisked away to the emptiness and never spoken of again. But you dribble your tasteless tongue with pity. Covering your lips in dark plaster, a substance you created. Drawing upon whomever will listen, whomever will coddle you with showers of pity. Filth ridden are you, disgust is what you paint. But you care not, you are an addiction in yourself, in your own false righteous pleas. Cawing like a crow upon a thin branch. Scouring for trash, for any sustenance that be ill to your gut. So that you may roll in complaints and become a creature of suffering. Aching in the sight of others, echoing in your oh so terrible existence. Appealing to those who pour with empathy, who's pores live for the seeping of helping others, though those they help may be treacherous in action. Y...

Veteran Crisis Line The Scar of War And His Suicide To Escape It  He returned with a heavy heart. With a fierce storm raging in rain, thunder, and dark clouds. Memories of war collided beneath his chest. His lost brothers he could feel in the very bones of his soul. Nothing felt the same in this place he called home. No words could describe the surmountable anguish that tore each second at his mind, creating a vast chasm. Loneliness slowly consumed him. Leaving him branded as a mental case, coming unhinged to reality. Drowning in the constant flavor of hops. Leaving no moment to be sober. Covering the storm with another, that if the fog became to thick to see, then his pain did not exist. Flooded with anxiety of what he left behind in the chaos of war. He could not escape the nagging of all the thoughts he prayed to forget. Tarnished he felt, guilty, burdened, he felt far from a hero. Though each friend, each member of his family embraced him as one. And on each night ...

A Forgotten Teddy  There, on a park bench alone, sat a lonely teddy bear. Drenched in rain upon a cold fall evening. Not a single soul in sight, but myself. And as I looked at it, I began to wonder, who it did belong to, why was it left? Did a child grow out its tender looks, was the mother in a hurry and they left it? And as these thoughts progressed with a slight pinch of sadness, the bear began to remind me of myself. I too, often sit alone, cold, in the rain in silence. Hoping for the stars to fall from the sky and lift me. I think too, maybe this is who I am meant to be, a silent, solitary soul. To only be loved for a momentary moment before being abandoned out of boredom or wear. And as I approached the teddy bear, I began to see it was worn. Tattered, signs it was clearly loved at one point. Held through restful nights as a candle burns in farthest reaches of a room. Being a comfort in the dead sweats of nightmare. And I too, once held tight to something, clingi...

Tears For A Beautifully Wretched World These tears, pull them from my eyes. Pluck them as if they are roses, but be careful their thorns. Do not mix blood with their innocence. For it is I who has held them for far too long. Stowing them away as if useless. Neglected have they been, burdening my eyes with sorrow. Heavy, in the sweet scent of rain have they become. But I cannot release them on my own. Pull back the lids of my eyes and pry them from where I have chained them. Do not fear the pain you shall cause, for much, is old. If you must, plug the canals of your ears if my screams will bring horror upon your listening. Long has this pain waited to be heard. No longer to be shuddered by my attempts to keep it silent. Do not fear the agony from each nail you shall draw from my eyes. Rusted they may be, from the misery that has soiled them. Causing sickness to my view, I, becoming ill set on believing the disease that has immured my happiness. I have become a casket for the d...

Youtube  Our Relevance To Particles No relevance is thee to the particles that float among us to create what we be. Our spirits are far designed to live among this futile air. This breathless nuisance of life, we are no more alive today, than yesterday. For our visitation upon this earth in our physical presence is stemmed the moment we wake. We are but flowers blooming in a long summer. Each our own winter, but forever shall we slumber. But maybe more lies beyond this veil we see. Thus we must be willing to act accordingly, for judgment may lay upon our crowns. None be perfection, but thrusting to the idea, accepting the imperfections is the utmost one can be. Lending hands to teach, to grow, to help, never to hold bitterness longer than the moment. Being no burden to self, though our real wishes this. Being no false prophet, telling only the facts of truth, living only what thee truly believes at the deepest crests of the horizon. Spilling no venom among the breach...

Rapture Your Soul  A splendid rapture of the soul can lead one to become well. To cleanse the envious toils of the heart and mind. Rinse clean the absolute disgust the recedes in the darkest crevasses that one fears to reach. We carry cobwebs that need to be brushed. But we fear them, as they look of webs. A dwelling for eight legs and venom. Ignore them do we, fearful watching as the wind sways them delicately. Clean them? But what if a creature lives within them, ready to kill what life we have left? Well so be it, at least an attempted to become healthy in spirit gave you hope to become something new. Clinging to filth is nostalgic, memories riddle the old. We hold dearly as we angst they may be useful later on.  But when has a cluttered heart of antiques led one to be profound in themselves? By all means keep the scars of lessons, but do not hold tight to what only brings burden. Scratch the regret from the mind and polish it for something greater. ...

Where Does A Lonely Soul Go? Where does on take a lonely soul? Where does one find solace among this heavy haze? A thickness where the sea compares as air. An open road, cumbersome feet, melancholy lines, dividing happiness from the mind. An overcast of romantic hope. But quickly dwindled in the mist of a downcast. Shadowing the heart in gloom. An oppressive misery wraps its damp arms around the chest. Suffocating the rhythm that once beat with ferocious courage. But now beats seldomly, with intent only to keep breath leaving the the lungs. Beasts form in the clouded view, eyes of raging flames. Standing in the height of mountains. Over baring, thoughts shriek, screaming in the emptiness that has carved its home inside. Still, silent, watching as the monsters approach. Strangely feeling a release, a comfort, the willingness to leave it all behind. Become consumed by what is unconsciously derived from depraved suffering. Leading chaos to the garden, smelting all the rose...

The Existence of Life   Have you ever truly looked to the existence of life? Have you seen the the vastness that exists between each molecule, each color? If you have, then you know what it is to weep. To cry at the beauty before you. To see the miracle of a painted horizon as the sun simmers to rest. You have seen the smile of a new born as you pass by it's mother. And in seeing such a graceful creature be brought into this beautiful world. Your heart warms at the sight its smile. If you have truly embraced life, then you know eruption of all senses. The colliding of skin upon  fingers, lips locked in love. Though these things may have broken you, you still find beauty in them. You find the rain to be gracious in its giving of nourishment to our surroundings, to us. You have enjoyed the aroma of winters cold touch as well as the fragrance of spring after the falling of rain. You have placed your eyes upon a rainbow, not out of a glance, but out of admiration. ...

Living In The Shadows The shallowness of reading what already was. Capturing tears upon words, following trails of ink. Leaving no sign of new. Scratching pen across the happenings of past. Writing to close to fires, melting the light.  Shadow's billow upon pages, shadowing the now. Tear's clouding thought, madness ensues. What filth grimes the nails. Clawing for something to free, but too late. The walls are built the hell is lit and the heart is bleak. Eyes widen to the darkness, seeing no words to create. Holding ill to the unreachable, the no longer present. Fulfilling in desire, but holding deep to misery. Bleeding are the lips, for speaking in the shadows there lies pity. And screams will not be heard. For no ears but the designers will be present. Crying to the vacant lot of split white canvass. But fear holds to the aurora of what could be. Now no hope is to be held, little is to be done. For only the creator has the key.  Falling in disease to n...

Depression Tips Its Hat Here I am, in a strange world, a place untouched by me. My thoughts squander on the edge of lonely. Soaking up the this odd air around me. My heart feeble in its rhythm, depression walks in, tipping its hat with a smile. I grin, as I know him well, but never wish him to stay. He sits now, at the foot of my soul, waiting, just for that inch. That unprotected second I fall to his dull whimsical show. Playing lullabies I thought were laid to rest long ago. But this place, this strange place untouched by me. Reeks of the familiar, reeks of left over crumbs of my suffering. And I try, I try, I swear I am trying. Keeping the hunger at bay, the hunger to envelope this appetite to crumble. To set fire what minutes ago was happiness. What a gallant smile stretched across my face in excitement just moments ago. But somewhere, somehow, from there to here. It disappeared, it became a ghost to my presence. No, leave me be, I say, as depression tries to worm its...

   A Man's Traveled Heart                                                                There Is No Boredom  This earth is no placed to be fixed, no place to be at a single point. Ah, the wonders that lie ahead. A nomad must a heart be. To truly embrace the eclectic sanctuary that is the ever expanding universe. Spinning us around and around a hundreds of times a year. Creating a connection to something that could boil us an instant if we drew too close. Frightful is this and if caught in a sudden stop, we would fling from the comfort of our grounds and we would burn like the stars.  This danger excites the heart. It pierces the simplicity of boredom when one finds the utmost danger in the utmost simplistic scenarios. And from those minut thoughts of tickling fear of adrenaline, blossoms knew gro...

A Story of Me, Dare I Say I buried my heart years before I knew what life meant, before I ever took a moment to explore the kingdom that is within me. Before the coming of age, I fell to the preaches of the popular and the cool. I listened to unsightly words become labels of me, such as,“stupid” on needless occasions, as students looked on and the teacher pointed. I fell prey to the voices that cluttered my existence of who I was, and what I was meant for. As time passed I struggled with the savoring of poison, numbing my thoughts and the voices that crept. Feeding the urge to make it all go away with the joys of pills and the rare occasion of coke drowned with whiskey and false laughter that came with it. Only to end each night with quivering misery and spiteful hate toward myself. With misery building her home inside me, I left myself locked behind walls with tears sunken in a well, never to be released. Skirting the thoughts that would leave not only my heart bu...

A Corpse To My Soul  I don't know where to take this. This corpse of mine that drags at my feet. It holds at my ankles with much desperation though it is dead. I can smell its stench with each fading second, but I have become null to it. Its grip, hollow, but somehow clings to me as if I am a God. And I hear it pray behind its rotted teeth that I will raise it from death. I try to ignore its spoiled flesh, its barren voice. But I am drawn to it when the world becomes a haven for burdens. I listen to it with regretful intent. And when I listen, the hills before me, grow that much higher. I become a thimble of a man, pressed heavily with anguish. With the constant battle of what is no longer, as I clasp with aspiration to create what will be. And this corpse, in its moments of declaration for wishing existence once again. I rage in my voice that it will shut up. That it will release itself from my ankles and let me walk in peace. But in just the moments I stop. Wher...