quinn - Hello Poetry

Did I see you through the imaginary lenses again that day? In your too big Nike’s, dragging an old tattered suitcase ready to quit long before you’d even contemplate letting up Inside a crumpled map and a few shirts that stunk of the dead fish up the creek they’d been cleaned in I stopped for gas even though I was full, and I almost wanted to believe that you were a mirage of love I’d never feel again I wore an Aubrey Hepburn dress and had just been called a **** for the third time that week by some **** with a confederate flag sticker on his truck I wondered if that made me dream you, soft, with your arms open yelling, “MOMMMMMM,” as you moved as quickly as you could towards me in giant shoes without laces I tried to imagine what the old couple in the field thought when they saw you emerge, wide yawning out of the brush Or the woman who brought you to the train station and asked what your mother would think about you walking New York as you held back your all encompassing laughter Some may call it a mental break, but I knew better, I knew you were performing poetry in motion Maybe even a months worth of writing yielded from that trek, and as I pictured you growing in a way I couldn’t, I wished that I could take off the glasses that made the world vanish and you illuminate I wanted so badly to chase you into the brush, to sleep rough, to forget for a moment the **** on the walls I’d have to scrub in the wee morning hours later on Instead I shouted back, “DAAAAAAAD,” embraced your toned and warm body, and told you it was about time for a joint

0

Jul 11, 2019

Jul 11, 2019 at 3:32 PM UTC

Fredad

Did I see you through the imaginary lenses again that day? In your too big Nike’s, dragging an old tattered suitcase ready to quit long before you’d even contemplate letting up Inside a crumpled map and a few shirts that stunk of the dead fish up the creek they’d been cleaned in I stopped for gas even though I was full, and I almost wanted to believe that you were a mirage of love I’d never feel again I wore an Aubrey Hepburn dress and had just been called a **** for the third time that week by some **** with a confederate flag sticker on his truck I wondered if that made me dream you, soft, with your arms open yelling, “MOMMMMMM,” as you moved as quickly as you could towards me in giant shoes without laces I tried to imagine what the old couple in the field thought when they saw you emerge, wide yawning out of the brush Or the woman who brought you to the train station and asked what your mother would think about you walking New York as you held back your all encompassing laughter Some may call it a mental break, but I knew better, I knew you were performing poetry in motion Maybe even a months worth of writing yielded from that trek, and as I pictured you growing in a way I couldn’t, I wished that I could take off the glasses that made the world vanish and you illuminate I wanted so badly to chase you into the brush, to sleep rough, to forget for a moment the **** on the walls I’d have to scrub in the wee morning hours later on Instead I shouted back, “DAAAAAAAD,” embraced your toned and warm body, and told you it was about time for a joint

13

who's to say there's no beauty in sagging mossy roofs on moldy double wides? old chevy's in the front yard with the wires eaten out by the rats that steal the cherries off of your forgotten childhood tree we wonder aloud whether we should be more afraid of the squatters or the red necks toting shotguns at the end of the road, followed immediately by musings of this being the perfect place to have babies I can see me chasing chickens and you building a shop, and our kids rolling their eyes so often they get stuck in the back of their skulls I wish this moss filled yard would spell it out with stones from the walls that surround it, no more pondering, just a universal understanding that we’ve driven down the right road Instead, for now, I’ll just count myself lucky for having a partner that isn’t afraid to keep driving

0

Dec 29, 2018

Dec 29, 2018 at 9:12 PM UTC

Creswell

who's to say there's no beauty in sagging mossy roofs on moldy double wides? old chevy's in the front yard with the wires eaten out by the rats that steal the cherries off of your forgotten childhood tree we wonder aloud whether we should be more afraid of the squatters or the red necks toting shotguns at the end of the road, followed immediately by musings of this being the perfect place to have babies I can see me chasing chickens and you building a shop, and our kids rolling their eyes so often they get stuck in the back of their skulls I wish this moss filled yard would spell it out with stones from the walls that surround it, no more pondering, just a universal understanding that we’ve driven down the right road Instead, for now, I’ll just count myself lucky for having a partner that isn’t afraid to keep driving

6

how do I love a family that failed to protect me? a mother who refuses to advocate and stand up for me because she’s so entrenched in patriarchy that she can’t imagine holding her son accountable a father who taught us every day that violence, manipulation, and fear were useful tools against the ones you love a brother who I emulated and admired, who took a piece of me that I’ll never get back, who attacked me and almost killed me, and now asks for my forgiveness and friendship a sister who I have failed, despite my only intention being the ability to show up for her I find myself bound to this, the repression wearing off with age as anchors disregard gravity and float to the surface, bringing with them darkness dredged from the depths I keep wondering when I will transform into the me that isn’t defined by this, but the internet keeps repeating that the only transition I’ll ever make is from victim to survivor I wish there was a slate to wipe clean, instead I am left human with humans, people with stories like the one written above, flawed and unsure of how to go on

0

Sep 30, 2018

Sep 30, 2018 at 3:46 PM UTC

shame

how do I love a family that failed to protect me? a mother who refuses to advocate and stand up for me because she’s so entrenched in patriarchy that she can’t imagine holding her son accountable a father who taught us every day that violence, manipulation, and fear were useful tools against the ones you love a brother who I emulated and admired, who took a piece of me that I’ll never get back, who attacked me and almost killed me, and now asks for my forgiveness and friendship a sister who I have failed, despite my only intention being the ability to show up for her I find myself bound to this, the repression wearing off with age as anchors disregard gravity and float to the surface, bringing with them darkness dredged from the depths I keep wondering when I will transform into the me that isn’t defined by this, but the internet keeps repeating that the only transition I’ll ever make is from victim to survivor I wish there was a slate to wipe clean, instead I am left human with humans, people with stories like the one written above, flawed and unsure of how to go on

8

the difficulty with remaining shrouded comes in direct opposition to the desire to be seen I won’t be defined by subjection to outsider’s projection of self, but still, I am human, and the pull to be understood lingers in a way they don’t tell you about in self-help books or charts that mark the planets and stars I wonder how loved ones will ever catch up, as I’ll forever live my life three hours behind

0

Sep 2, 2018

Sep 2, 2018 at 5:21 PM UTC

jet lag

the difficulty with remaining shrouded comes in direct opposition to the desire to be seen I won’t be defined by subjection to outsider’s projection of self, but still, I am human, and the pull to be understood lingers in a way they don’t tell you about in self-help books or charts that mark the planets and stars I wonder how loved ones will ever catch up, as I’ll forever live my life three hours behind

5

suicide has a way of leaving a wake of potential saviors behind it the kind of folks who've got all the right words and silent holding of space who've been through it too and are happy to sit in solidarity for as long as it takes the humans who know how to create connections to the right resources and have unlimited time to sit in the muck i wish i didn't cut you out, like a child with wild rounded edged scissors chopping her best friend out of the portrait she drew of the last time they climbed up that big hill together i can feel your spirit bouncing around the universe still, unsure and free, just as you should have been here the echoes of loss are always painful, but this one is strange and different, this one will whisper me to sleep until i don't wake up

0

Mar 14, 2018

Mar 14, 2018 at 8:10 PM UTC

hindsight

suicide has a way of leaving a wake of potential saviors behind it the kind of folks who've got all the right words and silent holding of space who've been through it too and are happy to sit in solidarity for as long as it takes the humans who know how to create connections to the right resources and have unlimited time to sit in the muck i wish i didn't cut you out, like a child with wild rounded edged scissors chopping her best friend out of the portrait she drew of the last time they climbed up that big hill together i can feel your spirit bouncing around the universe still, unsure and free, just as you should have been here the echoes of loss are always painful, but this one is strange and different, this one will whisper me to sleep until i don't wake up

7

he strums downstairs, remnants of childhood and forevermore colliding i wished for a life just like this, complex, beautiful, and full of living imagine a single silk thread extending from your soul to mine, a line that doesn't force us too near, but reminds us of the inevitable the star that decided upon our fate may very well be extinct, but to it, i am forever grateful

0

Mar 8, 2018

Mar 8, 2018 at 10:49 PM UTC

head first

he strums downstairs, remnants of childhood and forevermore colliding i wished for a life just like this, complex, beautiful, and full of living imagine a single silk thread extending from your soul to mine, a line that doesn't force us too near, but reminds us of the inevitable the star that decided upon our fate may very well be extinct, but to it, i am forever grateful

10

the stars shone brightly, each pin ***** of light illuminating a piece of me fully, but still, i couldn't recognize the beauty how many eternities have i stood here before?

0

Jan 23, 2018

Jan 23, 2018 at 2:22 AM UTC

reflect

the stars shone brightly, each pin ***** of light illuminating a piece of me fully, but still, i couldn't recognize the beauty how many eternities have i stood here before?

7

transience became a perpetual state in december unpack one suitcase directly into another, forget a brush and lose those perfect-fit jeans, after all, organized chaos attracts disorganized chaos in the name of love we wage on, through flu ridden airports and endless loops of the drive through gorst, the highway is grooving ridges just for these tires whispers of being tired, but this feeling is sadness, the clinical kind, despite no appointments for therapy, just not that kind of girl, that kind of blue, that kind of real wishing for wings, shrinking and growing simultaneously this is it! this is what you asked for, change upon change upon change, no sense of permanence, wild adventures - grounding will become it's own kind of freedom

0

Jan 17, 2018

Jan 17, 2018 at 12:57 AM UTC

shift

transience became a perpetual state in december unpack one suitcase directly into another, forget a brush and lose those perfect-fit jeans, after all, organized chaos attracts disorganized chaos in the name of love we wage on, through flu ridden airports and endless loops of the drive through gorst, the highway is grooving ridges just for these tires whispers of being tired, but this feeling is sadness, the clinical kind, despite no appointments for therapy, just not that kind of girl, that kind of blue, that kind of real wishing for wings, shrinking and growing simultaneously this is it! this is what you asked for, change upon change upon change, no sense of permanence, wild adventures - grounding will become it's own kind of freedom

16

i walked in the palm of my father's hands, uncomfortable under his gaze i cut the strings long ago, but this image remains, an epitaph of my youth-filled days i hid from the touch of my brother, because he used to touch me in ways i didn't like, but the strong carry on and our hero capes we don, when really we'd like to end it with a kitchen knife i remember the smell of my lover, 7&7's before seven AM, he'd light up a smoke while telling a racist joke, i took that vice with me when i finally got the guts to run

0

Jan 16, 2018

Jan 16, 2018 at 12:26 AM UTC

the seeds

i walked in the palm of my father's hands, uncomfortable under his gaze i cut the strings long ago, but this image remains, an epitaph of my youth-filled days i hid from the touch of my brother, because he used to touch me in ways i didn't like, but the strong carry on and our hero capes we don, when really we'd like to end it with a kitchen knife i remember the smell of my lover, 7&7's before seven AM, he'd light up a smoke while telling a racist joke, i took that vice with me when i finally got the guts to run

15

sometimes we celebrate learning to press tofu and sleeping warm sometimes it's getting to work 15 minutes late instead of 50 this notion that life is a grand adventure doesn't always equate to climbing mountains sometimes the molehills of waking up and breathing are enough

0

Jan 9, 2018

Jan 9, 2018 at 12:54 PM UTC

the little things

sometimes we celebrate learning to press tofu and sleeping warm sometimes it's getting to work 15 minutes late instead of 50 this notion that life is a grand adventure doesn't always equate to climbing mountains sometimes the molehills of waking up and breathing are enough

12