…You

I didn’t know if you’d ever return.

I’d been good, you see.

Always doing what was expected of me.

You stayed away,

I had constant thoughts of the bay.

The way in which you’d made my body sway.

neigh, spray, say.

You’d do anything but stay.

Maybe it was me.

I wasn’t carefree enough,

I went and obtained too many degrees.

You left nothing of me but debris.

That’s it.

I have nothing else to emit.

There’s nothing else for me to admit,

lest I become a hypocrite.

-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

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

Venus Fly Trap

I found my victim.
A weak, helpless being.
She called herself a girl.
Girl, boy, it doesn’t matter.
In the whole scheme of things it never matters.

She begged,
Pleaded until her voice was gone.
“Mercy!” she shouted.
“Leniency!” she cried.
She shook in her chains,
But that only made me laugh harder.
She spit in my face,
But that only made me harder.

I’m only paying it forward.
I’m only returning the gratitude,
The world has bestowed upon me.
I digress,
Tight with anticipation,
From the final release,
Of my stress.

-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

A Vise Like Grip

Night falls, and she feels awakened.
The goddess yawns and stretches.
The start of her day is here.

She looks for the weak,
The innocent minded,
The mentally insane.
Those are her comrades for the night.

She breathes in the fresh piss-scented air.
She laughs joyously upon hearing the sounds
Of debauchery, and whispered dares.

“Je veux baiser!” she yells through the alleyways.
“Je veux le chaos!” she screams to anyone who will listen.

She cried for an angel,
But received a demon.
And for that she will have her vengeance.

-N

Un Inconnu Amour

To Whom It May Concern:

Hello. You don’t know me. You probably never will. But I know you. Well, I think I know you. I don’t actually know your name, but If I’m lucky I will one day. Or maybe not. Maybe you’re something I’m not supposed to have. You see, I’ve been watching you from afar. Everyday I watch you sit in a corner. Every evening I see you order your drink. What are you thinking? How are you feeling? What are your plans? These are some of the questions I want to ask you. But I never do.

I sit in silence, contemplating the different conversations we’d have. We’d disagree on politics, have common interest in food. You would be shocked I enjoy sports, and I’d be in awe that you admire Jane Austen’s hidden messages in all of her books.

You’d want to travel, as much as I do. I would want to discover the meaning of life; You would want to help me.
Or not.
You could tell me to get lost; You could laugh in my face. Whatever the outcome I’ll never know. If this letter reaches you, I just wanted you to know that you are wanted,
God, you were desired,
And you were something I rewarded myself with frequently.

Sincerely,
A Lover Of You.