"It's been a bit,
since I've written real words,
real verbs, letters lined up
to litter the page
with alliteration,
metaphors, hyperboles,
other devices that help gain
your undivided attention.
It's been a bit,
I almost quit,
because the last time I was on stage,
I felt like a tripped.
I felt like I didn't perform,
I knew I was pulling punches,
because there was much to consider,
but now it's got me a little bitter.
I held back.
I held back,
lowering my tone,
juxtaposed to my actual voice;
loud.
I held back,
because of the
familiar face
In the crowd.
I held back,
instead of letting it rip,
taking people on a little trip
to recount how one's lid
was flipped.
I held back
because I was scared
that I wasn't hip
and I wasn't hop,
when I was raised on Wu-Tang
and Nas
in a place where
where rain constantly drops,
and I know how
the beat drops,
the mic rocks,
and how rhymes can make time stop.
I held back
because the tone of my skin
has people guessing
wrong my ethnicity,
if you think I'm white,
you're not right,
and to be honest
that's not point.
Because I come from a place
where I was too nerd to be brown
and too chale be white
and too polite to be hanging out
with the gangsters
stealing cars
and shooting at other's backs,
and if you think
I'm talking about blacks
that's the problem,
assumption causes caution,
because not only were those
want-to-be thugs
of fairer skin,
my only friends
were much darker kin.
In the Marines,
we call ourselves green,
and you're either
dark green,
light green,
and there's no disillusion,
you disagree?
Shoot,
perhaps in the Army.
And yes,
the Navy too,
there's no turning back,
I'm no longer holding back,
what I'm saying is true.
The point of this piece
is to bring peace
to me,
that I was wrong
to hold back,
to withhold from the reader,
because how can I call myself
a poet
if I'm not painting a picture?
With your mind as the canvas,
and my words as the paint?
I watched poets come on stage,
deliver works of art,
things beautiful,
and I saw a beautiful, torn heart
put her hand up in the air
to an artist work,
like it was gospel in the church,
with thoughts on me! I saw,
but I held back,
and what I provided last time
was a finger painting
of child's skill.
I need to be real,
paint a real picture,
my motions and emotion
the finest paintbrush,
now fluttering about
all over your mind,
hopefully breathing to life
that I,
a man,
am more than some accusation,
of being mean heart.
Of being a relatable object,
supposedly,
to a poem so eloquently put
'he broke my heart,
and called it poetry'?
Get out with that
hand raised in the air
while another poet
spills out her pain,
and perhaps next time
I won't hold back,
paint a picture
of how her heartbreak
did become my poetry.
Yes, I'm being specific,
and context would make
for a much hotter piece,
but I'm over this,
over being scared,
I've conquered mountains
and crossed bridges.
Reader,
I respectfully submit,
give me another chance.
I won't hold back."
February.8.2003
Trisha Barrek Hopkins
Where to begin where to end
When to say when how to win
My love is all I want to send
To be with you
To hold your hand
To really know you is to know
To take a stand
To be a friend
To say hello good-bye good day goodnight
To tell the one you love
What a sight
To forgive after a fight
Finding bad news
Holding eachother while taking a snooze
Taking care of each others heart
Saying you love
Trying not to fall apart
Promising people won't shove
A perfect fit as tight as a glove
Missing each other
Kissing one another
Always tell the truth
No matter how scared you may be
If your love is true
You'll understand you'll see
I can't wait till that day you look up at me
While your on one knee
When I met you
My skies they turned blue
Baby you're the one for me
Don't ask how I just know
So please don't set me free
Copyright
and he will leave me alone tonight
Again within my darkness, my question and fright
and again, again my emotions are denied
And again I pretend to be okay, when a heart is fried
I'd like to know just one thing
Will there ever be an answer to bring?
Night by night, without a knock on my door
Tears so frozen, still thoughts bringing me so sore
I embrace my shadows and what I have been ripped from
I try to look up to the sky, and yet there's still no sight of a visible sun
Your lies cloud the beauty from what I could see
Your lies take away from what I thought could be
and it's all so obvious, yet my boredom chooses to hold me up so
To the still of chained emotions, trying to grasp the shadows made of woe
and again, I still do not know why
When my only entertainment is looking forward to another lie..
With your words draped in sweet clever disguises
Lead me only to questions and silent demises
You again speak of love so freely
But I can tell by your eyes you don't hold it dearly
and I'll wait intently again for more words to keep me company
So I can cling to something, someone, but instead I look forward to agony
It's something I don't quite understand
but it's the closest I have to someone else's hand
and he will leave me alone for another night
Still without another explanation, I cling to an empty sight
Enter grief!
A timeless ocean.
Trapped of despair, trapped without relief
Enter the moon!
Endless racing of the thoughts.
Including you alone, trapped dead inside an empty room
The dead is holding you stiff once more!
Staring into your eyes, never have you felt so gone before
The time comes again, to pit against all that is you
Will you ever find the part of you that is actually true?
Paint the sky bleak
Consider everything we cannot speak
The one painting with the sun I painted as a child is lost.
Reality has broken the barrier, this is the ultimate cost