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February.20.2000
Trisha M. Barrek Hopkins

Between the two of us
Is where our feelings remain 
I don't know why he is making a fuss
My respect he will not gain

Not as long as the subject is about the skin
It's about the feelings between us two
No matter what way I look at it I cant win
I'd probably be disowned if he ever knew

But at this point I don't care
I cant ignore this feeling
We have this magic we share 
It all has a meaning 

So why cant he understand 
Why cant he see past the color
It's that I don't want to be with no other man
Explain? Why do I bother

Forbidden love between two
Why can't he let things be 
These feelings I wish he knew
The magic we hold I wish he could see

Between the two
We care for each other
I'll never feel the way you always do
No matter what he and I will always be together

But no he's stubborn to try
These feelings the two of us share 
I'm so upset I can cry
About the skin I wish he wouldn't care

These feelings kept to myself
All building up I feel like I could die 
I keep this book on the shelf
It's because I freely cant wear these feelings on my shirt
It's not fair
This negativity is making me hurt
The way I feel he doesn't care

The way I feel means nothing to him 
He has nothing positive to say
To him this love he doesn't believes in 
For God to change his mind I pray

Each and every night 
I just want him to look into his heart
And hopefully look past the sight 

Copyright*

Clocks slow to a crawl time creeps it's deceit 

Some days lack ambition no spring in my seat

Pounding heart sure to cave won't endure it's fatigued

Need mighty endowment strength stability proceed

This pen hits the paper racing heart slowly calms

I believe in my words the sweat dries from my palms

Trembling hands quieten be sturdy as steel

I take a deep breath... Now to enjoy how I feel

Shane Aaron

Dec 7 2013

nowadays all she does is whine about her bodily pains,

but when you were left alone, 

she stayed drunk, prowling the bars

days on end, 

oblivious to the emotional wreckage left

on your chest, like a hot iron

melted through the tender heart of a 10 year old,

the open wound to the 

skin, 

cauterized shut

too soon,

without even leaving any open flesh

for the pain to be released,

seared closed with the shame, pain, and false pride of generations,

sealed in for years like a safety box of magnets,

pulling you towards anything and everything self-destructive

in a desperate search for some morsel of hope,

that the next christmas dinner might be more than 

knocking on the doors of neighbors, being lucky enough to be

asked in to share a holiday meal, 

and an attempt to be noticed for something other than the burden

you were to her deep and fervent longing for 

the escape, into smoke filled rooms,

that reeked with the heavy, putrid smell of week-old frying grease,

cigarettes, and hairspray, that became one of your main

reasons for going to live with your dad--

other than the day she up and left for california,

a 50 dollar bill to substitute her mac and cheese, dribbled with 

one and a half inches of ashes off a pall mall,

only to be less than reluctantly welcomed by him,

and a stepbrother who most always was 

notably more worthy of better dirtbikes, nicer clothes 

and a much more frequent pat on the back 

for a job well done, 

that most often wasn't.

a dollar for him and quarter for you, along with the bottom bunk,

that smelled like pee from all the years he wet the bed,

only ever good enough for sloppy seconds--

and then there was brownie,

poor broken down swayback, with skin infections,

baldspots and degenertive bone disease,

in light of your brother's black stallion stud,

as if the 6 inch scar on the back of your leg wasn't enough 

from your father's drunken rage with a 4 inch hunting knife,

and the glass from the window that left it's souvenir the night he threw you

across the room, all before the age of 14.

shit.

i may have shot that horse between the eyes too.

11:37 PM 6/26/2013

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