PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Make new friends, but keep the old.

One is silver and the other is gold.

These are the words that my guardian angel had taught me.

After I got food poisoning from a blighted potato he enjoys.

 

I never liked potatoes, but I love them warm and crispy.

Goes to show that even recipes that take minuscule effort like chips and fries requires passion.

I cannot possibly give the potato another chance, now knowing that the man is a liar.

It took me a long time to realize that only I can decide the food groups that are right for me.

 

We humans are a complicated lot to read and decipher.

So don’t you dare compare kinships to silver and gold

Because even platonic love is the furthest thing from flawless.

And so are the guardian angel’s mischievous, yet spoiled acquaintances.

 

Friendships are like food from a college dining hall.

What’s on the menu is only delicious if we follow the recipes and turn up the heat.

But we must get to the cafeteria on time and grab them while they’re hot

Because they don’t taste the same if we’re served whatever’s getting cold.

 

Why should I believe my guardian angel’s wisdom nowadays since he has become aloof himself?

Old eating habits apparently die hard, but the same diet he practices for years is still going strong.

I used to believe that he was stuck in the middle because his acquaintances are often at war.

Now I am grateful that some of the pressure has been taken off knowing that I can’t please everyone.

 

I’d be a hypocrite if I said I am immune to this gluttonous misfortune myself,

But it is important to remember that life-changing desserts don’t take one day to bake.

Real gold and glistening silver always takes time and effort for Mother Nature to perfect.

When the sweets come out fresh from the oven, I also shouldn’t bite off more than I can chew.

"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."

 

 

It’s amazing the amount of power someone can have over you

 

Simply by knowing your name.

 

 

 

They know your name,

 

They say your name,

 

They make your name their own.

 

They smirk your name,

 

They cry your name,

 

They whisper it, alone.

 

 

 

Be careful the next time someone asks you for your name,

For once you give it out, it is never yours again.

They told me, the right one comes along if you just wait.
They told me that, patience is key.
But they also told me, I should decide my own fate,
So with one look at her, I decided her soul mate is who I wanted to be.

Somehow, someway, I was able to catch her attention..
Boy, was I feeling on top of the world.
But if you thought what we had was an unbreakable connection,
You wouldn't believe how the rest of this love story unfurled.

The aftermath of what started off beautifully, was an ugly mess.
She should've walked around with a tab that read, "proceed with caution,"
Cause she came and took everything inside of me, nothing less..
Now I'm left alone sinking in this love boat, cause she was my captain.