Mikayla Smith

Work In Progress // 25 // Always trying to be better

Writings

Followers

Following

Mikayla Smith

Work In Progress // 25 // Always trying to be better

Writings

Followers

Following

Erie

Mikayla Smith

1 min read

Cannot

Figure out

How to wake her;

Who has been watching

From the depths of the lake

As our bodies mold together?

We are one with the ground and sky,

Crashing into each other like waves.

And out of the blue, you don’t feel the same....

Poetry

Walk

Mikayla Smith

1 min read

I don’t remember the pain

But rather the panic that set like an unhealed fracture.

The walls are pretty thin—

I hear a commotion downstairs.

Talk of scars that linger; noxious, sulfurous fumes reeking of hidden remains.

I’m an archaeologist of ancient history,

Excavating a plethora of suppressed emotions.

I’d sooner walk over a sidewalk paved with broken glass

Than open Pandora’s box.

My secret...

Poetry

Fortune Cookie

Mikayla Smith

1 min read

I used to think in complete sentences.

Now I hold my words for ransom—

Coming to me in blurbs and cartoonish bubbles.

A flash of what I want to spin on paper,

Bare bones of poignancy,

But cannot make it outside of caricatures.

Imitation is the highest form of flattery

Unless it is intellectual property

And then all I have in my possession is a vacancy sign to hang on my forehead:

Artistry forec...

Poetry

DOA

Mikayla Smith

1 min read

When the storm comes, my compass always points to your arms,

Outstretched like wings on the water,

Making oceans out of puddles.

Belly distended, you engorged on daily bread

And said that means you are a prophet.

The wisdom imparted slaughters my brain cells—

Sounding as logical as television static,

Broken antenna disconnects reception—

Stuck in rotation—

My door revolves around letting you i...

Poetry

Sore Thumb

Mikayla Smith

1 min read

I don’t want to stick out like a weed in a field of wildflowers.

I come from a long line of big mouths.

Like my mother before me.

They say Mesopotamia was quiet until we barreled from the heavens,

Vaporizing the dinosaurs into fertilizer.

My hard-headed ways cracked the sky like a large egg,

So came the Great Flood.

Among the beasts and men,

It is only the beasts who are honest about their hung...

Poetry

Unlettered

Mikayla Smith

1 min read

I ask for nothing except your soul intertwined with mine.

Tell me I’m beautiful on days I look in the mirror,

Locking gazes with my reflection,

And lost in my own eyes, unable to prove I once knew my way back to the greener side of the grass.

I colonized the land with drought,

Bearing the gift of a bountiful harvest.

You planted your feet on my doorstep,

Famine aching in your heels.

I have a sof...

Poetry

The Nymph

Mikayla Smith

1 min read

Prop me up on the slab.

You’re such a doll!

Open me up, you’ll see how you stopped my heart right in its tracks.

One look at you

And I am as delusional as Cotard.

You saw right through me—

Starting with the arms that reach out to hold you.

Then the legs that run to you when loneliness becomes a load too heavy to carry.

All that remains of me is a stump.

Young lovers rush to carve their initials...

Poetry

Snorting Another Line Of Nostalgia

Mikayla Smith

1 min read

Welcome to the party that never ends!

Undoing the years of poison pulsing through my veins took a strength not passed down to me by blood.

I sneak off to the terrace as the chatter amplifies.

A man resembling the Cheshire Cat smiles from the other side of the room.

He is the tour guide for the visitors of my twisted mind.

Posing the question,

Why am I leaving so soon?

Losing myself to the crowd...

Poetry

Tourist Trap

Mikayla Smith

1 min read

She said she’d love me for the rest of her life—

My luck has it that she’s secretly a ghost,

Studying the mechanics of my earthly form.

She makes note of my presence like I am a dying lilac—

Radiant and fragrant for a single week in May

And then back to withering brown decay.

We met under the yew tree.

I gave her the last vacant room in my heart.

She promised she’d be a model tenant.

For as lon...

Poetry

Pariah

Mikayla Smith

1 min read

The burn at the back of my throat choked me as I engulfed my body in smoke,

Pearly whites of my eyes red and stinging.

No matter how I try to drown my anguish,

I am plagued with the Phoenix-rising philosophy.

Yet how many times do I write about revenge?

Of using the same metaphors

Because I possess no social skills—

I’ve made myself a pariah.

Phantom’s laughter haunt me when I’m asleep,

Filling ...

Poetry