To My Love, Amir.

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

Pink Horizon

I took off the mask,

Basked in the knowledge that I am free.

I have been liberated,

the invisible chains have been broken,

I’m no longer worth a token.

The toxicity of this realm has stifled me.

Forced me to dwell in places that I never meant to be.

In, win, depends,

You know the drill.

I used to hold myself back,

So they’d cut me some slack.

I’m past all of that.

Going into a new year,

I’ve made a vow to be honest with myself.

To live my best life,

else I end up detesting myself.

-N

*Make sure to check out my podcast where I talk about all things poetry!

https://anchor.fm/nicole-renee5

Sadist

You left me for a while.

But you came back.

I have no slack.

I can’t believe what you’ve made me feel.

What I’ve written,

What you’ve made me do.

My heart was broken.

I want you in too many ways.

I can’t say no though.

It’s not good for me.

This is a drug.

But I have to take another hit.

Just once more.

Then I promise I’ll go.

Promets juste que tu-

*Excerpt from my poetry book Love, Undefined By Nicole Renee. You can purchase it here.

Calling All Poets!

So, I have a podcast.

It’s on Anchor and Spotify. The name of my podcast is Expressions and Definitions by Nicole Renee. My station is themed around all genres of love. Hate, longing, betrayal, first-love, acceptance, self-love. I successfully interviews my first guest and it will air tomorrow. However, I would like to interview more up and coming poets. On Wednesday I would read your work, talk about it, and such, and that next Monday I would have you on my show to talk about your work. If you write any poems geared toward love and want a bit of exposure, then please contact me here, at my website or email. I will leave them in this email. Thank you so much and I look forward to hearing from all of you!

-Nicole

Author website: www.authornicolerenee.com

email: nicolew301@gmail.com

I HAVE A PODCAST!

YAY!

So, I have a podcast. It’s available on Spotify. It’s called Expressions and Definitions by Nicole Renee. I read poems centered around love and interviews new poets on what love means to them. I posted this here because I wanted to seek out poets. If you have some poems themed around love, (It can be sad, anger, betrayal) please contact me as I’d love to feature you!

-Nicole

Still

Bleeding,

Broken,

Mentally unstable.

My alarm clocks goes off for work.

Throw the covers off,

Try to ignore the cough,

Put on a smile and make sure to not question the boss.

There’s a pain in my chest,

Sound, wait, I must get dressed.

I’m distressed,

pressed, tested to the umpteenth degree.

The melanin in my skin shows otherwise.

I should be grateful,

Thankful,

In all aspects respectful.

I felt my heart stop,

my suit and heels are a prop.

“Where is my laptop?”

I can’t be late for work,

I can’t be late for life,

I can’t take a day off.

Because,

Because,

Because.

I still have to go on.

I still have to move forward.

Too many people depend on me.

Too many people need me,

Don’t you see?
I cannot be.

I was not afforded the luxury to only exist.

I must persist,

else I become dismissed.

Just one more day,

A few more minutes,

and then it’ll all be over.

-N

The Unseen

I wonder,

If you ever think be-yonder.

I stand in front of this mirror,

Unsure of this face in front of me.

I think I’ve lost the sight.

Something’s not right.

M’aimeras-tu si tu voyais le vrai moi ?

Just a question,

Or if you’re afraid, it could be a suggestion.

-N

The Inner Thoughts

I don’t think anyone really knows me.

I put on so many different faces, Sometimes I can’t even tell that it’s me.

I wish someone would give me a momentary peace.

I have so many thoughts,

Some troubling you see.

Are we just pretending?

Fitting in a world that seems never-ending?

Should I rip off the mask and let everyone see.

The true me?

Do I even know her?

Or was she crafted from months of taking on another persona?

-N

A Styleless Style

I was confused as to what it means to write poetry.

Schools used to tell me what the definition meant,

I tried to follow their guidelines, but it wasn’t for me.

I just had to be.

I was hesitant to write about what I really see,

things concerned with strife.

I thought I had a handle on what it means to write poetry.

To always be introspective, and allow the audience to see the deepness in you.

The raw, the honest, may come off as too brutal,

Too much.

Until Friday.

Until yesterday.

Until today.

I went to my local library and immersed myself in the works of Solmaz Sharif,

Jenny Xie, and Carmen Gimenez Smith. I smiled when my hands ghosted across Maya Angelou, and sighed when I saw the well-loved and worn books of Lord Byron.

Each style was unique.

It was uniform in the fact that it had no uniform.

I loved being squeezed between the old bookshelves.

They were free of scorn.

-N