CONTRAST

CONTRAST

I know the danger of emotions.
Discouragement likes to dip
his finger
in my tears
to taste my stress.
Anger loves to argue with me—
knowing sometimes,
I can’t win.
Grief grips my heart and throat,
squeezing, until I can’t breathe.
Sadness sulks into my spirit,
and sings songs of suicide.
Sorrow likes to yell suggestions,
screaming Peace doesn’t know me.
Confusion comes to caresses my mind,
as if it is her own.
Hopelessness hangs on my
back and shoulders,
making burdens harder to bear.

I know the danger of emotions,
and
I know the power of emotions.

Happiness holds my hand,
leading me to higher ground.
Comfort comes to cry with me,
whispering encouragement in my ear.
Strength seizes Sorrow and Sadness,
suffocating their speech.
Peace prepares me a soft place,
for me to rest my weary soul.
Love lunges me forward,
letting me know
my pain is not punishment;
and my life still holds legacy.

I know the danger of emotions,
but I also know their power.
I know MY power too
because
Perseverance,
The lady who sits in my soul,
loves to shout…
“That which does not kill you,
makes you stronger”.

Famished

In the ghetto,

hunger only offers

hot air sandwiches

loaded with

lead, tomatoes,

and

meat made of

misery and malnutrition.

We sip drinks topped with

depression and honey,

and feast on

culture-coated peppermint sticks

that suck us

into social submission.

Down here, we must remember our place

at the back of the line—

I am only allowed to stand

at the back

of line of humanity.

My stomach doesn’t understand

why I can’t

eat one of those ‘Vanilla Hope Sundaes’

or gobble down a slice

of ‘Its Gonna’ Get Better’ Bread.

The only thing affordable in my world

is a burger with a bullet on top,

served

everyday

for free.99

at the neighborhood

‘I Can’t Catch a Break’ Café.

PEEK-A-BOO

In urban jungles,
predators
build prisons
to lure their prey.
Man-made meat
caught at midnight
by blue and white arrows
is served
raw
in penitentiaries,
waiting to be washed
by fire
in the Belly of the Beast;
Scorched meat
predators vomit
back into the wild—
Stirred and cooked into
the leftovers of our communities;
causing
cultural heartburn;
clearing paths for these predators
to possess the land.

Predators prey
upon the ghetto
like parasites—
picking our families
apart
piece by piece;
Predators
who pass laws,
freeing
them to feed
on the flesh
of our families.

Fattened
like cattle,
prisoners graze in
heavily guarded
metal meadows;
foraging on
seeds
of low self-esteem,
self-destruction,
and
sabotage
smothered in
secret indictments.

Jail cells serve
as
generational
auction blocks,
where
our sanity and souls
are sold
for a few cents on
the dollar.

Grant writer by day, M. Nicole transforms her love for words into art after dark. Her first love is flash fiction, and poetry is her side piece. She loves to take her audience on a lyrical mind trip around the moon--usually for about 60 seconds. She returns them to Earth with a richness only her readers know. Originally from Chicago, IL., she writes as a phoenix in Phoenix, Az. Featured in several publications, including Canyon Voices, Fairfield Scribes, and Journal X, you can connect with her @mnicolewrites on twitter, Instagram, and Facebook.