A Cover…Ou un sale secret

Yeah, you read it correctly.

I’m only saying what other people are thinking.

Of what others are feeling.

What lies within all of us.

What we are afraid to let out.

What’s the worst that could happen?

It’s okay,

I’m like the rest of you.

I’m the coward that pretends to be appalled,

Secretly marveling at the tales being spun.

Does that make me a deviant?

Tu pourrais être rude c’est ce que je veux

Look at me.

An absolute mess because of my thoughts centering you.

-NR

An Unreal Request

My friends tell me I’m crazy about this dream I once had.
They all laugh and mock till my foolish heart bleeds,
For the love it truly needs.
I dreamt of a man,
who took my hand,
and told me I needn’t do much,
just get used to his touch.
How could I?
It was all elusive to me.
you see, love never came to me.
How could I just be?
Yet he whispered in my ear,
told me things that made me shiver,
that promised to deliver.
It felt so real that to this day,
I sit here waiting,
for my dream man.

…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