No Holds Barred Poetry Writing Challenge: Day 18

He says I’m not the relationship type
because I have cold hands and feet,
the tips of my fingers and toes,
just under the nail,
a purple-blue tint—
a lack of blood flow, a lack of oxygen.
My heart beats to a different tune
opposite of the symphony he composes
for our love.
I’ll admit I feel nothing
when I touch him—
my senses numb to his warm affections.
“I love you” tastes like hot
mayonnaise on my tongue.
His kisses fail to thaw my icy lips—
frozen in a pout, unwilling to smile
to his presents and poems.
I’m sorry I couldn’t be the meek
lover you desire of me,
but I don’t need a king to save my heart,
and I’m too independent to let a man
be the key to my happiness.

© 2015 Nortina Simmons

No Holds Barred Poetry Writing Challenge: Day 13

God made dirt, dirt don’t hurt—
the blind blessing we recite
over spilt food on a dirty floor
before placing it back in our mouths,
swallowing with the confidence
that because God made it
we cannot die.

But did God not create people,
people who hurt us every day—
break our hearts,
steal our loved ones,
abuse us with manipulative words
to satisfy their selfish needs,
shoot us, stab us, kill us, rape us?

Shall I eat this peanut retrieved
from a floor on which a murderer tread
dragging a family of corpses behind him?
God made him, right?
He cannot hurt me…

© 2015 Nortina Simmons

No Holds Barred Poetry Writing Challenge: Day 12

close-up picture tattered American flag behind barbed wire fence

Our values are misguided,
corrupted.
A life is meaningless
against a car,
a phone, a pair of shoes.
A seventeen-year-old boy
faces seventeen years for
strong-arm robbery.
His loot: a pack of cigarettes,
deodorant, a toothbrush—
the victim still breathing.
Seventeen years under the parenting
of murderers, rapists,
bigoted prison guards—
if not mistaken for a
murderer, rapist
by bigoted police officers
with loaded guns and a profile
before his trial.

© 2015 Nortina Simmons