Mrs. Yolanda Nicholsen Poet Lyric

Fbi supervisor became the heartbeat of my American Poetry

It had begun again the terrorist threats 
at first right at the height of my writers block 
leaving beautiful gems surfaced from my minds 
eye that was when the head lights parked baring 
strange death threats plastered on license plates  
interesting I closed my drapes shut my blinds shutters 

when a red dot began dancing all over my living room 
it had been two decades since my stalker fatal attraction 
arrived with her gunman committing home invasions 
in my townhome scattering a few poems an yet this 
resulted in this man dying at my feet he was sent 
to end my life over my own American poetry 

there I was desperate with only the notion of the 
federal bureau of investigations realizing I was this 
confidential human source who wore wires pregnant 
because the FBI told me my life was in danger on the 
count of this madman had committed an arson murder 
killing nine elderly person in hiding broken frightened 

expressing myself through prose never knowing this 
arsonist wise guy faked his death to get away with 
the murders and decided to latch on to my American 
poetry a score to pay off corruption to bully my 
American poetry racketeer my life hence my death 
for sport attempts on my life sending domestic terrorist 

to enter my room ripping pages on my night stand 
I can't imagine the bureau's reaction receiving my 
desperate call of home invasions please help I screamed
thieves are after my poetry you see for me poetry 
was this healing coping therapy for the panic attacks 
the fear the anxiety the ptsd of surviving being 

a confidential human source I could still hear 
my fetus heart beating decades later seated 
on my bed this red dots bounced off the wall 
landing on my chest the killers were back enraged 
basically forcing me to continue writing to fund 
organized crime and corruption I peeked through
 
the blinds face to face with an assault rifle pointed 
at my bedroom window could poetry really be worth 
killing the writer how do one survive domestic terrorist 
I close my eyes I see the gunman coughing up blood odd
I see the arsonist parked with my stalker a fatal attraction 
literature is America's fine culture poetry is a gift from God

Written by Yolanda Joy Nicholsen

♡Like0

Share Poem

---

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment