Poetry can feel like a whisper or a reckoning. In My Mind’s Eye, it becomes both, guiding readers through memory, identity, and the fragile work of healing.
First Impressions
Nikki Pimentel’s debut collection, In My Mind’s Eye, opens with a question that settles into the reader’s chest: what does it mean to be seen after years of disappearing? It’s a powerful starting point. From there, the poems unfold with quiet intensity.
The collection centers on the journey from trauma toward wholeness. Nikki writes about childhood wounds, family dynamics, and the silent strategies many people develop just to make it through the day. The tone shifts naturally between soft reflection and unfiltered honesty. Some poems feel like confessions shared late at night. Others read like declarations made after long internal battles.
There’s an emotional steadiness in Nikki’s voice. The pain described is real, yet it never feels sensationalized. Instead, it’s examined with care. Readers are invited to sit with difficult memories, to acknowledge them, and to recognize how they shape identity. That invitation creates a sense of connection. It feels personal, yet never isolating.
Between Cultures, Between Selves
Nikki Pimentel identifies as queer, trans, nonbinary, neurodivergent, and Latine. Born in New York and raised in the Dominican Republic, Nikki grew up moving between languages, cultures, and generational expectations. That layered upbringing breathes life into the poems.
Throughout In My Mind’s Eye, identity is explored from multiple angles. There are reflections on cultural belonging and the tension of existing between worlds. There are moments that touch on gender identity and the vulnerability that comes with claiming it publicly. Family expectations appear as both weight and inheritance.
Nikki’s writing often lingers in that in-between space. The poems capture the feeling of navigating environments that do not always have room for complexity. There is longing in some lines. There is frustration in others. Yet there is also pride. The act of naming oneself becomes an anchor.
Self-reclamation emerges as a steady thread. Healing is portrayed as gradual. It’s messy at times. It requires revisiting old memories and reshaping them with new understanding. Nikki does not present growth as linear. Instead, growth feels like a spiral, returning to familiar themes with deeper insight each time.
The language remains accessible, yet it carries emotional depth. Nikki avoids unnecessary ornamentation. The strength of the collection lies in its clarity. Each poem feels intentional. Each line serves a purpose.
Bearing Witness Through Poetry
One of the most striking qualities of this collection is its sense of witness. Nikki writes from lived experience, yet the poems reach outward. They honor trans ancestors. They recognize queer youth searching for safety. They acknowledge the many people who have learned to shrink themselves in order to survive.
The collection feels communal. Even when Nikki is recounting personal memories, there is awareness of a broader context. Systemic erasure, generational silence, and cultural pressure appear throughout the work. These elements are never abstract. They are grounded in everyday moments and emotional realities.
Nikki believes poetry is a space to tell the truth out loud. That belief is evident on every page. The poems confront shame and silence directly. They create room for vulnerability without losing strength. There is an underlying message that stories deserve to be spoken, especially the ones that were once hidden.
Beyond the page, Nikki’s advocacy deepens the meaning of their words. Now living in Rhode Island, Nikki works in early intervention and serves on the board of the Sam & Devorah Foundation for Transgender Youth. Their commitment to neurodivergent advocacy and gender equity reflects the same values explored in the collection. Writing becomes part of that broader mission. It is a tool for connection and awareness.
The pacing of In My Mind’s Eye allows readers to breathe. Intense pieces are followed by moments of quiet reflection. This rhythm creates balance. It prevents the weight of the subject matter from becoming overwhelming. Instead, the experience feels guided and thoughtful.
Lasting Impact
In My Mind’s Eye stands as a confident debut. Nikki Pimentel writes with courage and sincerity, offering a body of work that feels grounded in lived truth. The poems speak to anyone who has wrestled with identity, family history, or the desire to be fully seen.
This collection invites readers to examine their own. It suggests that healing begins with acknowledgment. It affirms that visibility can be transformative.
For those who have felt unseen, Nikki’s words offer recognition. For those seeking to understand experiences beyond their own, the collection provides insight and empathy. In sharing their story, Nikki creates space for others to step into theirs.
In My Mind’s Eye leaves a quiet echo. It reminds readers that telling the truth, even softly, can shift the way we see ourselves and one another.
We had the privilege of interviewing the author. Here are excerpts from the interview:
Thank you so much for joining us today! Please introduce yourself and tell us what you do.
My name is Nikki Pimentel (they/elle/él), and I’m a queer, trans, nonbinary, neurodivergent, Latine poet and advocate. I was born in New York and raised in the Dominican Republic, navigating between cultures, languages, and generational expectations. Currently, I work in early intervention and serve on the board of the Sam & Devorah Foundation for Transgender Youth. Through my writing, I explore the intersections of identity, family, trauma, and the process of self-reclamation. My debut poetry collection, In My Mind’s Eye, is a testament to survival, healing, and breaking generational silence.
Please tell us about your journey.
My journey hasn’t been linear; it’s been a spiral of survival, unlearning, and becoming. Growing up, I carried the weight of bullying, depression, body dysmorphia, and childhood trauma. I experienced sexual assault as a teenager and survived suicidal ideation without knowing how to name what I was going through. For years, I stayed silent because I didn’t have the language (or the safety) to speak.
It wasn’t until my mid-twenties, after my marriage fell apart, that I finally started therapy. That’s when I received my diagnoses: depression, anxiety, ADHD, and C-PTSD. Therapy gave me words for the pain I’d been carrying my entire life. It also helped me understand that much of what I experienced was rooted in generational trauma; patterns passed down from my mother, my grandmother, and the women before them.
Writing became my way of processing what I couldn’t say out loud. I started putting my story on paper, not just for myself, but for the younger version of me who thought they’d never make it. In My Mind’s Eye is Part One of my testimony: a reckoning with my past, my family, and the cycles I’m determined to break.
What are the strategies that helped you become successful in your journey?
Honestly, “success” for me isn’t about achievements, it’s about still being here. But if I had to name what helped me survive and eventually thrive, it would be several factors, including:
Therapy: Finding the right therapist (after trying several) was life-changing. Therapy gave me tools to process trauma and helped me understand that healing isn’t linear.
Community: My chosen family has been everything. When blood couldn’t hold me, my friends did. They reflected my truth back to me when I was too afraid to look.
Writing: Poetry became my witness. When I couldn’t speak, I wrote. When I felt invisible, I made myself seen on the page.
Advocacy: Getting involved with the Sam & Devorah Foundation, speaking out about mental health, body positivity, and LGBTQ+ rights gave my pain purpose. Helping others heal helped me heal too.
Setting boundaries: Learning to say no, to protect my peace, and to walk away from what no longer serves me (even when it’s family) was one of the hardest but most necessary things I’ve done.
Any message for our readers
If you’re reading this and you’re struggling whether it’s with your identity, your mental health, your family, or just surviving another day, please know: You are not too much. You were never too much. You were always whole.
Your pain is valid. Your story matters. And healing doesn’t have to look like anyone else’s. It’s okay to take up space. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to leave situations that hurt you, even if others don’t understand.
You don’t have to have it all figured out. You just have to keep going. And if today all you did was survive: that’s enough. You are enough.
To my fellow queer, trans, neurodivergent, and marginalized folks: we deserve softness. We deserve love that doesn’t ask us to shrink. We deserve to tell our stories without apology. Keep speaking. Keep existing. Keep taking up space. The world needs your voice.
Thank you so much, Nikki, for giving us your precious time! We wish you all the best for your journey ahead!