The Things I’ve Done Do Not Define the Person I Am by Trish Hopkinson
Moving through the world,
like I know every move before I make it,
overlooking my faults, the good I want to have,
the deepest sparkling winters,
the snow-capped stars—a gift
that can be costly to accept—
understanding all I need is
already in me: calm, peacefulness,
beauty, elegance—soft,
fluent elegance.
I don’t always act according
to the knowledge I have.
Kindness and purity turn to white smoke
in the meadow of love and hope—
above a girl with corkscrew pigtails
who can’t live up to her name.
Sometimes, even if I said too much,
I can still go back and fix it.
I can actually learn.
And that’s heaven.
Trish Hopkinson has always loved words—in fact, her mother tells everyone she was born with a pen in her hand. Trish is co-founder of a local poetry group, Rock Canyon Poets. She is a project manager by profession and resides in Utah with her handsome husband and their two outstanding children. You can follow her poetry adventures at http://trishhopkinson.com/
spider up her thigh in the dimly lit room
held down, stared down
embers of the abyss snap around her
My father sexually abused me.
When I got married,
I hyphenated my name.
No one questioned it at the time.
But in the middle of my parents’ late divorce,
everyone wants to know about names.
i was depressed,
and i wanted
to take a
walk;
you said you'd join me—
didn't mean i wanted
netflix and chill,
it happened before words came
to tell me how to feel about it
newly connected neurons torn apart
or perverted—
forever firing blanks into the microbiological air
As a child
The lessons taught
Can bring a pain never thought.
The lessons on trust
And heartache
Sear the soul.
