An Incurable Romance Writer
…Came to collect.
Time was given.
Money was allotted.
Frivolity was limitless.
Now,
The moon was covered by the clouds.
The winds picked up from the east.
And rising from the ground, Death, suddenly appeared.
You were fascinated and terrified in equal measure.
But what more could you do?
This day had already been predicted to you.
-N
Your funeral was today.
The house was quiet.
The food was simmering.
I cooked your favorite meal with the pie you like.
It always gave me delight to watch you bite into what I created.
I always debated, waited with bated breath for you to taste it.
You’d roll your eyes and laugh at my fit.
The streets mourned you passing.
Still in shock we all came in caravans amassing and surpassing the church.
I sat in that front pew barely held together.
Something pieced together like paper does to glue.
The casket was closed,
your body which at one time was so strong,
fragile and decimated because of the evil forces that took you away from me.
I always vowed that nothing short of wild horses would take you from my grasp.
I had no idea that these wild horses were in uniforms given the license to kill.
Your death took away all of my will.
I just-it’s still.
-N
I’m suffocating.
I see my brothers and sisters dying for no reason, and it guts me.
Driving while black,
Sleeping while black,
Eating while black,
Talking while black,
Laughing while black,
Dancing while black,
Learning while black,
and the lists goes on.
There is no justice for me,
No peace for me.
Even though they tell me there will be.
Be what?
More pain?
More suffering?
I’m so used to physical pain,
I don’t know how to exist in a realm of sane.
This plague on my brain….
Yet I can’t complain.
Not supposed to anyway.
I’m just supposed to sway in the distance,
not be resistant,
be tolerant and coexistent.
Tell that to the people that oppress me.
That try to steal the light from under me.
I want to yell like a banshee,
but I have to be still, sit and grin with quiet glee.
It’s the American way they say.
American being white.
The white way.
Because that’s the right way.
To point out all the faults within this system would be unpatriotic.
But how can that be? At least for me?
My people worked these streets,
and built these buildings hoping one day they’d get a chance to truly see!
The need to return home is prevalent,
It is making me more than malevolent.
Oh to waddle in the dark night.
I straddle the fence of what is wrong, and right.
Ohhhhh, to be wrong for just one night.
-N
JustNicoleRenee 