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Tuesday, January 16, 2018

Patrice Barrett: Poems

Patrice Barrett is a 3rd grade teacher in Columbia, South Carolina where she teaches English Language Arts and Social Studies.  She has a Master’s degree in Language and Literacy from the University of South Carolina. She participates in local open mic nights monthly. She has been journaling since 2nd grade and finds poetry writing to be fulfilling. Her goals are to encourage her students to write freely and think critically using poetry.



Every love song.

Daughter the world will tell you
You have two goals
Be eye candy and make a man fall in love with you.
Everyday scandals and celebrities break ups will cross your news feed
You will think the world is right
I have two goals
Two interests and that is it
And to top it off you will hear women
Crooning out those love songs about men
Who broke their hearts
But baby girl I’m here to tell you tonight all those
Love songs are not about men
Yes women can love more than those two legged creatures
Never be subjected to what this world wants you to be or love
Those women are singing about broken hearts from passion, failures, regrets, secrets, risk
Broken hearts
Can be caused by car issues in the middle of the month and payday is days away
Broken hearts come from dreams that never took off
Loved ones that left too many questions marks
From failing ourselves
Broken hearts come from mean bosses and miserable coworkers
Broken hearts come when we think life has passed us by and we are not winning
I wanted to tell you all those love songs are not about relationships
Sometimes just really rough days.


Patrice Barrett





Mr. microphone


I have a few questions to ask you
I know you said you had no rules
But I really have to ask you a few questions
Before I share my truth with you
I know it’s cool if I talk about my mama issues
Or my daddy issues, my broken heart or struggling pockets
I know I can talk about my job or aching mental illness
But you will really accept me if I talk about anything?
Rape. Mr. Mic can I talk to you about that? Will you listen?
Have I ever been raped? Well. Mr.mircrophone you’re bold
Am I captivated by it?
Well I have no comment, but will you cut me off if I am?
Why are you sounding lower??
Okay how about stealing Mr.microphone?
Can we talk about that? What do I think?
I need to know
Will you still get my voices to the masses?
Have I ever been robbed?
Well Mr.microphone this isn’t about my pain
Okay you got LITTLE quieter this time
I think you are judging me Mr.mircrophone
I thought you said I could 
tell you my truth?
Does that come with conditions?
Let me guess I must be the victim for you to love me?
I'm not the victim to be honest
I haven’t been for a long time!
I don't need you as much as I thought
I'll spread my messages, hurt, and experiences
My poison
I'll live forever

2 comments:

  1. Yeah, I'd accept you - all-inclusive. My old lady went through the residential schools, just in case you thought you'd been abused.

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  2. Yeah, trust me baby, I'm not minimising you, but she was beaten, black and blue, for ripping the habit of the old fat nun, left in a room, 'cause they wouldn't take her to the hospital, days later to my surprise, she came through, raped along with every child, it started with her since she was five. Glass pop bottles up the ass with the lids still on, you'll never hear them cops, priests and nuns sing that song. Age five through grade eight or nine (?). Suicide was tried many times, and no small effort, but her brothers would find, her on the trail, guts in the grime. The trail of sorrows Hal Ketchum would write, in spite of himself, still he did write, as I do now, it wasn,t your fault, there's levels of suffering most people don't get. I was raised without a parent in sight, now I've overcome that night - MARE. Mentally ill? What else could I be, without a soul watching over me. She was raped and sodomised by the men with nobody lookin', they told her she was God's will to them - an excuse for a Catholic to commit any sin - how fuckin' sick is that? Twelve year old babies, they buried their babies - in unmarked graves nobody could find, graves for them too that no one can yet find. I feel your pain, it's no less than mine, or hers - this world is full of desolate men - MR. microphone? I'll beat him to the bone. Only thing I'm afraid of is me and my own.

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