PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

"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