There’s No Oxygen In The Room

No one understands me.
I’m pretending.

I’m not sure who I am.

I’m not sure you’ll like who you really see.

I’m not sure I can freely be me.

My heart hurts.

My chest burns.

I have no relief.

I can’t seem to see straight.

The weight of the world is on my shoulders.

I have no relief.

I can’t tell the truth.

It won’t set me free.

My body is tired.

I know no other option.

I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired.

I don’t know what I hope to accomplish with this.

Maybe my pain can give someone else comfort.

A moment of bliss.

My truth is I cannot tell it.

I hate myself.

I hate my thoughts.

My wants, and desires, and hope,

It’s been stripped from me.

Yet I have to be strong.

Always strong.

I cry at night and in the dark.

So that in the day I’m light and full of false snark.

 

-NR

Je Déteste Quand La Chaleur Est Prévu

You’re angry.

You’re apprehensively aroused.

This unemotional object that I’ve seem to become.

This listless,

phlegmatic,

dispassionate,

woman I’ve become.

You look genuinely perplexed as to why I have become this soulless robot.

As if the dirty thong in your pants pocket wasn’t obvious enough on laundry day.

Question,

Avez-vous essuye les jus de la chatte sale votre visage quand vous etes venu chez moi embrasser?

Huh?

No?

Cat got your tongue?

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned they say.

Hell hath no fury like a woman.

Hell hath no fury.

Hell.

You.

Huh, It fits.

-N

Je Me Suis Perdu Dans Le Temps

I awoke to the sounds of the night.

My eyes widened from lightning illuminating the sky.

My breath caught at the ominous sounds of thunder shaking my frame.

My skin tingled from the wind whipping across my face.

I pulled up my chair to watch the sky take out it’s anger on the world.

I reveled in the sounds of whimpers from the streets.

I laughed at the sounds of pain from the trees.

I was stuck in time.

I had no desire to leave.

-N

Minuit Confession Du Pécheur

Twisting and turning in this bed.

Legs in a vise grip.

Air levels are depleting.

Gasping for acceptance,

Gasping for love,

Gasping for truth,

Gasping for understanding.

I am a huge contradiction.

I am the thing I fear the most.

I shake my head no,

But spread my legs,

In desperate anticipation,

For the devil’s euphoric stroke and flow.

My chest heaves anxiously,

For his talented tongue to taste my skin,

I need this sin.

My nipples tighten in practiced rhapsody,

For the soulless being taking me to ecstasy.

My core soaks in abject blasphemy,

For the ignorant bliss he brings for the night.

Suffocation is here,

The man in black has [finally] re-appeared.

My affinity for the sinful,

For the debauchery,

For the unattainable,

Will be the death of me.

-N

The Hidden Snake

I hurt from the pain I see.

I can’t stop these tears that awash my face.

There is a terrorist attack happening,

And It’s on my people.

My people are being

Killed,

Raped,

Choked,

Sprayed,

Targeted,

Hunted,

Treated like animals,

Treated as If we don’t exist,

As If we don’t matter.

I am lost,

I am somewhere.

My body longs for freedom.

To soar above the clouds,

Away from oppression,

Away from man.

I long to call for help,

To call a SOS.

But the people I would normally call,

In a time of need,

Are intent on persecuting me.

I see no win.

I see no escape.

I feel my people’s pain.

I hear their cry.

Will the Pharoahs of the world ever let us out of our bonds?

How long before God hears our prayer?

I am even being hunted in God’s sanctuary!

When will my people find release?

When will my people ever be avenged?

-N

Permettez-Moi De Vous Parler Un Instant

This poem was inspired by one of my favorite authors Jane Austen.
“The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid.” -Jane Austen

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

I don’t want love.

Not right now.

People think I’m crazy for saying this.

At least I’m honest.

I’ve never lied to my fellow reader,

Only aspired to be a leader.

I’ve never been one for dramatics,

So I won’t pull the script from life’s attic.

I’ve seen no good examples of what people call love.

How can I trust something I barely know exists?

I’ve seen people together,

Because of duty,

Because of religion,

Because of children,

Because of comfortability,

Because, because, because.

Everyone is always talking about love.

Fuck that.

Do you enjoy a good novel?

Do you like to read?

Do you even read?

Do you enjoy expressing your feelings through the liberating art of prose?

Where is your sense of adventure?

What is your definition of life?

Do you,

Do any of you ever have these thoughts from time to time?

Or are we all destined to the doom that is “matrimony?”

-N

A Saturday Night Prose

I went out on Friday night.
Went to find my love.
Lover of the evening,
One night stand,
Same thing.

I hitched up my bra,
Cut two more inches of my halter dress,
Mis sur mon baise moi pompes,
And was ready to go.

I club hopped,
Saw some friends everywhere I went,
Took shots with old lovers,
Laughed for what seemed like days.

Went to my last bar of the evening,
And there you were.

You weren’t supposed to be here.
You were the reason I disappeared.

-N