The Lord gave me a mind, a heart, 2 eyes that can see, a pen and a whisper
“Child write for me”
To sustain a heavenly gift shrink wrapped and complete with a bow of uncertainty
I write to shatter the boundaries of the introvert cowering beneath my skin, to speak-
To scream for you if you are in shackles, if you are bound by the laws of a ruined government
This purple spirit flies and my heavenly body connects with the Almighty as he journeys from heaven down my spine to my pen rapidly spilling contents like word rain.
Because I cannot attest to my innocent anymore
Because “Nicole I didn’t know wrote” can’t slither out of the mouth of anyone and boaconstrict the little man sitting on the edge of my creativity.
See- my limbs are constructed of Poe and Dickinson
The blood coursing through my veins demands that it be released to devour the shreds of pages begging to be turned and read relentlessly
Thousands of hungry pages and achy brain cells,
they say most famous poets were insane.
my sanity comes from this – this right here.
these pages are the padded walls that I slam into for hours!
For abandoned children whose mouths have been locked up by war
For death, light and darkness. I write for peace!
For my fellow brothers and sisters on stage, lifting them up out of their pit of butterflies with snaps.
If I didn’t take my poems for a daily walk they would scheme against me and riot into a suicide bombing.
Ultimately ending in my prose grave.