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Best Poems Written by Nyisha Hampton

Below are the all-time best Nyisha Hampton poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Untitled

Understood like written opinions in the dark.
This fine line of cultural barriers.
Controlled by our mental description of perfect.
Who is perfect?
Who has the right to judge my look, then, assume it goes with my personality.
Basing your opinion of me on my past told to you, but known by me.
You can use faith as the basis for everything.
I'm searching for common ground on sea's,
Hoping god will appear and say" Come to me".
Tattoo's, make me a walking collague of all things I hold dear beyond skin deep.
Piercing, for me, a form of beauty.
Encouraged to be different,
To shake up the norm.
Outcasted when the norm ends up a far cry from it's original form.
Take to negitive's to form a positive.
Confronting those who swear their word is bond, or 
the hetro-sexual closet cases who hide their sins and judge the world.
Truth's hidden inside brains.
Mine hell bound, cause my sins hang from sleeve's, like
gay flags at pride parade.
So quick to judge, failing to see..
It's the soul,
that make's you, you, and me, me..

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Pollution

Use me as an example.
Floating on sea's of vanishing waters ,
soaked up by those who care not for the amount of pollution tossed in to it.
It's importance ignored for profit.

Use me as a sponge soaking up oil polluted lake's,
saving aquatic wildlife from suffocating slowly.
A diamond in the ruff covered by the glam of fashion,
forgetting the slave trade's used to harness it.
Clothing line's forgotten due to the sweatshops used to give it it's fame.
A fair exchange ends up not quite the same.
It's never what you meant when it's time to explain.
When it come's time to change.
The growth of tree's important for me to breath,
cut down for me to use breaths expressing thoughts seen by me or expressed unto me.
Killing off nature selfishly,
for materialism unable to be taken by me from this earth when I leave.

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Rownada Genocide

15 years!!
15 years!!
15 years for 2,000 deaths.
15 years for wearing a black and white collar around your neck,
calling gorrilla soldiers to bulldoze a church,
where your suppose to speak heavenly life changing words,
calling people to the alter to repent.
15 years, for speaking with a split tongue.
For taking the place for hope, safety, the foundation, the place where miracle's come heaven 
sent, and
making it a grave site for the tutsis.
While preaching in other countries how good god's been.
Some murder's claim to be married to god, but have taken part in killing million's of his 
children, and still live in convents.
I understand athesism though I do not follow it.
4 million killed since 98".
Young boys forced to rape their mother's,
then watch their mother's shot between their legs, or die later on of aids.
15 years!!
This is revalation's in our day and age.
15 years for trying to dimolish an entire race.
I'd get more than that for buying and selling weight.
For, driving a stolen car, on house arrest, intoxicated, but
2,000 dead at one time.
It's being tried as if it were an american felony case.
This is revalation's in our day and age.
15 years.
The funny thing about this is,
we'll spend million's to report it, but 
won't aide in the prevention of another loss of life.
Amazing isnt it.

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Escape

Filled with anger,
Thug tendency's.
Unable to see peace, daydreaming, lost mentally, remembering.
Trust..Give me a reason.
Love...Known treason.
Betrayed by those closest , unable to breath.
Humbling myself enough to appologise for assumptions that have cost me.
Eyes glazed by tears familiarized with leaving.
Respect..Give me a reason.
Hate...Comforting like cigarette's causing cancer killing me.
Using highway's to escape, cause I can fly by familiar place's,
this time able to leave.

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Poetry

For me poetry is like air.
It's the flow of life put on paper imaginately, expressed passionately, artistically, and 
smoothly.
Hitting you like cold water flowing down your throat on a hot summer's eve.

It's like a spontaneous thought to grab your friends and leave, but
not literally, imaginately.

For me poetry is like a voice wispering in the breeze trying to tell me.
Tell me what?
Everything..

Relationships, life, death, dreams, poverty, or 
just for someone getting off their chest what they feel without out right saying,
" Hey, this is me", but wording it beautifully.

For me this is the beauty and what I love about poetry.
A personal creative expression,
combined like oxygen to water, to music, and felt by those who listen to it.

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Music

Dreams cannot be stolen, only given.
Music is my seed, by being.
Every pulse, beat, twitch, tingle, and thought, forms a song.
My body sings to me.
An artist hears their song, and transforms it into reality.
Like a blind man on piano keys, or BB King unknowingly playing the guitar perfectly.
Music is my seed.
Like Sachmoe's cheeks, or the riffs in Ela Fitzgearld's voice.
The breeze behind Goapelle's "closer to my dreams".
I can only imagine the battle in the home of the Georgia peach, or
slave's singing hymn's to cover the pain behind cotton seeds.
This inspiration knows me.
A love so deep, yet hidden behind dollar signs, cause kids gotta eat.
Wealth is desired, but music is used to celebrate success, to honor one's dreams.
I use music as my seed.
I use high hat's, guitar strings, and bass beats to electrically jump start me.
The sax, piano keys, and trumpet to motivate me sexually,
while stimulating mentally.
A banjo and harmonica to enjoy the country, as I travel cross country.
The vibrations of car windows to release the strain and tension of the streets.
Music is my seed, my being.
The life force allowing me to dream..
A connection with god only expierenced by a lover of music, 
connecting like maternity.

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My Soul

I write from my heart,
from the depth of my soul.
To release the tension in my brain,
to sooth myself, and remain in control.

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Peace

Peace, if only for a moment is beautiful.
If it only happened once all over the world at the same time,
would we miss it ? 
Would we know how to take it,
would we say it, or keep it all enternalized?
Peace, if only for a moment is beautiful.
Some of us don't have it often enough to know what it feels like, but
I know they miss it, cause
Peace, if only for a moment is beautiful, and unforgetable.

Details | Nyisha Hampton Poem

A Daughter's Cry

I talked to her through a soundproof window, 
understanding only somethings, but I talked anyway.

I talked to her through a bulletproof window,
she could see me, but couldn't feel my pain.

I begged her with tears in my eye's.
Pleading for my sister's,
starring at her thin brittle body.
Praying for life to once again enter her eye's.

I prayed for her in front of that bulletproof, soundproof window with a rosery in my hand.
Knowing that all prayers won't be answered when you want them to, but
all will be answered in the end.