quinton-horras-yard - Hello Poetry

I swear I could build a library. Using the settled dust of our memories as a foundation. I could build an archive. Using cheat sheets I made, to guide me through asking you to marry me. I could build a gallery of mirrors surrounding you. And just pretend it was the same beautiful portrait from different vantage points. I could do a lot if I wasn't sick. If I wasn't so stuck on wishing I could go back. I swear I could build a house- And live alone there until I die. But who would drink the coffee?- And who would wake me up? Who would listen to my every word- And never interrupt. It doesn't even matter- How easy it could shatter. But we still build them so she'll come. And hope she never leaves. But they always do.

0

Jul 2, 2014

Jul 2, 2014 at 3:49 AM UTC

Build it and she will come.

I swear I could build a library. Using the settled dust of our memories as a foundation. I could build an archive. Using cheat sheets I made, to guide me through asking you to marry me. I could build a gallery of mirrors surrounding you. And just pretend it was the same beautiful portrait from different vantage points. I could do a lot if I wasn't sick. If I wasn't so stuck on wishing I could go back. I swear I could build a house- And live alone there until I die. But who would drink the coffee?- And who would wake me up? Who would listen to my every word- And never interrupt. It doesn't even matter- How easy it could shatter. But we still build them so she'll come. And hope she never leaves. But they always do.

19

The world is just an old fat man. Rolling in holy black sheets. Old replayed talk radio- And a nice warm cup of tea. I drank my soda too fast. I looked at her too long. I said I'd see the world. But without Her, I'm sure I'd see it wrong. We used our hands as cups and plates. We never wanted to sleep. We stayed up until morning. Busy bodied, watching T.V. She painted her nails in the same color- As the sky after a storm, where- Orange and red, with swirls- Twisted like her hair. The world saw me love her. It even led me by the hand. And just because you miss me- Doesn't mean I miss you back.

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Jun 17, 2014

Jun 17, 2014 at 11:16 PM UTC

Nutshell

The world is just an old fat man. Rolling in holy black sheets. Old replayed talk radio- And a nice warm cup of tea. I drank my soda too fast. I looked at her too long. I said I'd see the world. But without Her, I'm sure I'd see it wrong. We used our hands as cups and plates. We never wanted to sleep. We stayed up until morning. Busy bodied, watching T.V. She painted her nails in the same color- As the sky after a storm, where- Orange and red, with swirls- Twisted like her hair. The world saw me love her. It even led me by the hand. And just because you miss me- Doesn't mean I miss you back.

20

Folded pieces of paper. Old past due assignments. Made paper footballs with- Corners pointed like diamonds. Spent all that time. Scooping out room for- You in my heart. Like guts of a pumpkin. Stay close to you I tried. But the pumpkin got rotten. Corners got bent. And my company unwanted. A couple of cans of root beer. Sitting along my windowsill. Sitting still, lukewarm and flat. Dragging in gnats. I remade my bed. Cleared off the pillows- I pretended were you- And made room for two. I took down the pictures. I took down the lights. Took down some notes on- How to resist my- Need to be loved and- My want to be fine. My urge to move forward and- Hunger to fight. I get lost in the right- Ideas and go wrong. I hope that you don't think- That I belong here.

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Jun 5, 2014

Jun 5, 2014 at 1:07 PM UTC

Guts of a pumpkin

Folded pieces of paper. Old past due assignments. Made paper footballs with- Corners pointed like diamonds. Spent all that time. Scooping out room for- You in my heart. Like guts of a pumpkin. Stay close to you I tried. But the pumpkin got rotten. Corners got bent. And my company unwanted. A couple of cans of root beer. Sitting along my windowsill. Sitting still, lukewarm and flat. Dragging in gnats. I remade my bed. Cleared off the pillows- I pretended were you- And made room for two. I took down the pictures. I took down the lights. Took down some notes on- How to resist my- Need to be loved and- My want to be fine. My urge to move forward and- Hunger to fight. I get lost in the right- Ideas and go wrong. I hope that you don't think- That I belong here.

32

"Be calm"- I was laying flat in a bed. My palms- Shaking and my face is red. Listening to looped white noise. I had ping pong ***** taped to my eyes. Red dot lasers pointed in the center of each. The method we used to help me lucid dream.

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Jun 1, 2014

Jun 1, 2014 at 3:32 PM UTC

Be calm, lucid dream

"Be calm"- I was laying flat in a bed. My palms- Shaking and my face is red. Listening to looped white noise. I had ping pong ***** taped to my eyes. Red dot lasers pointed in the center of each. The method we used to help me lucid dream.

8

I've clicked my heels. I've torn the house apart- Looking for lamps to rub. I've decided to set the alarm for 12:33- So I can watch the clock hit 12:34. So I can wish for you.

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May 28, 2014

May 28, 2014 at 10:38 PM UTC

Best Wishes

I've clicked my heels. I've torn the house apart- Looking for lamps to rub. I've decided to set the alarm for 12:33- So I can watch the clock hit 12:34. So I can wish for you.

6

Your eyes tether me. Wide green sense of familiarity. Your alpine white dress drags against your feet. Looks for a place for thread and floor to meet.

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May 26, 2014

May 26, 2014 at 3:34 PM UTC

Alpine

Your eyes tether me. Wide green sense of familiarity. Your alpine white dress drags against your feet. Looks for a place for thread and floor to meet.

4

It's hard to think- this time last week- I was searching for weeds- in the cracks of the street- in front of the church- Where I once worked- In the sun, hardwork- Pulled weeds all day till my hands hurt- I was working at the shelter when he found me- said son you need to leave- move out, get out of this town- because you ain't happy, and you sure as hell ain't proud. Back to flint- crime hole of Michigan- where I once lived- when I was a kid- where the buildings look like **** and the streets smell like **** It's been six years since I left for Maine- I've searched flint up and down for a familiar face- the only thing familiar was the old cafe- we spent summers here, breakfast everyday. Lady at the counter asked "sweetie what's your name"- She was cleaning the tables while I had my tea- She said they don't pay her enough for this **** I said "you still make more than me" She recognized my face- I asked her if She remembered any of my friends- We used to come here everyday- After school. For burgers and shakes- I explained, I never kept in touch- I'm not the type to, And even if I did- they wouldn't hear from me that much- I told her what had happened. How I lost my house in flames. I have no where to stay, not my parents, and I don't have any friends. She said she remembered you. She remembered how we were always together. Asked if you still lived in town- She said yeah- she sees you sometimes, hanging around. She set a glass down- Poured some tea- Shared a cup with me- She said I don't want to be involved with you- Asked her what she means. Welcome home. She said. She winked. Again. Napkin and a pen. Gave me an address. Out past the green light, Past The fairgrounds. I drive out and around. And found my self nearly out of gas. Every light stayed green as I would pass. There was never any traffic in this town. Or at least none that would last. Drive past old miss myrtles. Her house was covered in vines. She used to leave her window open, Set there fresh baked pies. I wonder of she's alive. I found your house. Boarded up. Two men came out. Undone zippers and button ups. One laughed and smirked, pretty girl. Worth every dime. The veins in my neck popped and i clenched my fists at my side. You walked out side. You stood there, so beaten. It's clear that you've eaten, Some fists in your life. You walked back in side. It's too late to hide, The black bruises, your eyes. Don't try and disguise it's too late for make up and lies. Drugs and money on the table. Your life's a pond that stands still. One drop or touch, And you shake and waver, the flavor is enough. Holes in the roof. Teeth on the ground. Trash and needles, Radio blaring loud. Outside traffic. Busted lips, white noise. In a crib, a witnessing little boy. Thought of you more and more. Saw a sign, you were what I came home for. Not your arm full of scars, Or face full of sores. All my friends have left and gone. Numbers lost. Seems like this whole town is dead. Every street lights stuck on red.

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May 25, 2014

May 25, 2014 at 4:23 AM UTC

Holy

It's hard to think- this time last week- I was searching for weeds- in the cracks of the street- in front of the church- Where I once worked- In the sun, hardwork- Pulled weeds all day till my hands hurt- I was working at the shelter when he found me- said son you need to leave- move out, get out of this town- because you ain't happy, and you sure as hell ain't proud. Back to flint- crime hole of Michigan- where I once lived- when I was a kid- where the buildings look like **** and the streets smell like **** It's been six years since I left for Maine- I've searched flint up and down for a familiar face- the only thing familiar was the old cafe- we spent summers here, breakfast everyday. Lady at the counter asked "sweetie what's your name"- She was cleaning the tables while I had my tea- She said they don't pay her enough for this **** I said "you still make more than me" She recognized my face- I asked her if She remembered any of my friends- We used to come here everyday- After school. For burgers and shakes- I explained, I never kept in touch- I'm not the type to, And even if I did- they wouldn't hear from me that much- I told her what had happened. How I lost my house in flames. I have no where to stay, not my parents, and I don't have any friends. She said she remembered you. She remembered how we were always together. Asked if you still lived in town- She said yeah- she sees you sometimes, hanging around. She set a glass down- Poured some tea- Shared a cup with me- She said I don't want to be involved with you- Asked her what she means. Welcome home. She said. She winked. Again. Napkin and a pen. Gave me an address. Out past the green light, Past The fairgrounds. I drive out and around. And found my self nearly out of gas. Every light stayed green as I would pass. There was never any traffic in this town. Or at least none that would last. Drive past old miss myrtles. Her house was covered in vines. She used to leave her window open, Set there fresh baked pies. I wonder of she's alive. I found your house. Boarded up. Two men came out. Undone zippers and button ups. One laughed and smirked, pretty girl. Worth every dime. The veins in my neck popped and i clenched my fists at my side. You walked out side. You stood there, so beaten. It's clear that you've eaten, Some fists in your life. You walked back in side. It's too late to hide, The black bruises, your eyes. Don't try and disguise it's too late for make up and lies. Drugs and money on the table. Your life's a pond that stands still. One drop or touch, And you shake and waver, the flavor is enough. Holes in the roof. Teeth on the ground. Trash and needles, Radio blaring loud. Outside traffic. Busted lips, white noise. In a crib, a witnessing little boy. Thought of you more and more. Saw a sign, you were what I came home for. Not your arm full of scars, Or face full of sores. All my friends have left and gone. Numbers lost. Seems like this whole town is dead. Every street lights stuck on red.

94

I have a special talent. I have the ability to taste peoples personalities. It sounds weird, I know. But this is not a fictitious writing. It happens only on the very first interaction with someone. Only in person obviously- Not through text or the phone. I feel it- Rather, I taste it in the first words they speak. The first time our eyes meet. And in one instance, the first hug. I guess I don't "taste it" Its more instinctual- It almost feels like a memory. Not like I just imagine it. Its more like- When you think someone said your name when they didn't. Sometimes people taste like the smell of rain. Some, like salt water. some, like cloth or toothpaste. On an occasion- Sweet Orange Soda. I guess I don't know if its actually personalities I am "tasting" It just so happens that the Fellows that taste like burning rubber, or rotten cheese end up being the ones that just cant get along with me. Its hard not to judge- When my body does it at the instant. Maybe its all about mannerisms, and subconscious memories. Its odd. Ill stick to my friends that taste like Mint and Orange sodas- Fruit and cake dough- Than those- who taste like moldy bread.

0

May 24, 2014

May 24, 2014 at 12:17 AM UTC

I Have a Special Talent

I have a special talent. I have the ability to taste peoples personalities. It sounds weird, I know. But this is not a fictitious writing. It happens only on the very first interaction with someone. Only in person obviously- Not through text or the phone. I feel it- Rather, I taste it in the first words they speak. The first time our eyes meet. And in one instance, the first hug. I guess I don't "taste it" Its more instinctual- It almost feels like a memory. Not like I just imagine it. Its more like- When you think someone said your name when they didn't. Sometimes people taste like the smell of rain. Some, like salt water. some, like cloth or toothpaste. On an occasion- Sweet Orange Soda. I guess I don't know if its actually personalities I am "tasting" It just so happens that the Fellows that taste like burning rubber, or rotten cheese end up being the ones that just cant get along with me. Its hard not to judge- When my body does it at the instant. Maybe its all about mannerisms, and subconscious memories. Its odd. Ill stick to my friends that taste like Mint and Orange sodas- Fruit and cake dough- Than those- who taste like moldy bread.

32

Was so fragile- She could be cut by callused palms. Could be bruised- With the stroke of her makeup brush. Lays so sound- She could wake up to the car door slamming in the garage. She is so thin- Light shines not just through her eyes- But through her chest, hips, lips, and- No warmth is transferred through her kiss. She breaks like hardened mud. You could sink into her like quicksand. Her body, is built like a storm. You can watch the blood in her veins- Meet your fingers at the surface- You can still see what you have drawn in the morning- If you can even crawl out of bed to crack the blinds. She likes thunderstorms. She likes the smell of dirt. Her eyes were gray- And her tongue is stuck to the roof of her mouth. She can dance in the sun- clumsily- And still be the most beautiful thing you have ever seen. She could sing- Off key- But her emotion is what makes those notes gold. She lays like stone. She moves like running glass fast forwarded. Her voice is thunder- And her eyes are the winter. She lays hands on you- Only to heal. She can mend you- as easy as bending a wire coat hanger. Her skeleton is like flint- How it sparks against mine. Her body is so fragile- A word could hurt her. and a stick or stone- would certainly **** her.

0

May 23, 2014

May 23, 2014 at 11:56 PM UTC

Her body

Was so fragile- She could be cut by callused palms. Could be bruised- With the stroke of her makeup brush. Lays so sound- She could wake up to the car door slamming in the garage. She is so thin- Light shines not just through her eyes- But through her chest, hips, lips, and- No warmth is transferred through her kiss. She breaks like hardened mud. You could sink into her like quicksand. Her body, is built like a storm. You can watch the blood in her veins- Meet your fingers at the surface- You can still see what you have drawn in the morning- If you can even crawl out of bed to crack the blinds. She likes thunderstorms. She likes the smell of dirt. Her eyes were gray- And her tongue is stuck to the roof of her mouth. She can dance in the sun- clumsily- And still be the most beautiful thing you have ever seen. She could sing- Off key- But her emotion is what makes those notes gold. She lays like stone. She moves like running glass fast forwarded. Her voice is thunder- And her eyes are the winter. She lays hands on you- Only to heal. She can mend you- as easy as bending a wire coat hanger. Her skeleton is like flint- How it sparks against mine. Her body is so fragile- A word could hurt her. and a stick or stone- would certainly **** her.

41

Seeing you first thing in the morning is like looking through a kaleidoscope. I cant really tell what I'm looking at because my vision is so blurry, but-my god is it beautiful. I don't get to wake up to you as often as I'd like. But when I do, I look to my left, or to my right- depending on how much shifting I've done in the middle of the night- and I say.. "Oh goodness, this pillow looks like her." But then I realize that it is you. I had just forgotten where I am because waking up to you is so abnormal. Then- What comes next is the wave of nerves, and I mean WAVE OF NERVES- that comes over me when you purse your lips- trying not to smile back at me. I can't help- but to throw at you, an endless string of generic compliments- like- "You are, so beautiful" Or- "You look so good without makeup" But they aren't generic to me- Because they are true. But then I say something really ******* stupid. Like- "Your nails....... feel like.. nails" Ironically- Nails, is a word with a couple different meanings. Like- Fingernails. Hammer and nails. And like how I just nailed you. But hey- I put just as much time nailing you, as a man would, hammering nails into the beams of a house that he is building for his own family. Not that you took a really long time- Or I want to put a family inside you- But- You are a masterpiece. What I'm trying to say, Is that aside from your brilliant mental composure- Your thousands of beautiful blurry reflective faces- And your superb taste in men- Example being me... You are wonderful, And I look forward to building more houses with you in the future. We could have a castle with a mote. We can have a pet dragon. As long as I have light- And a thousand busted mirrors in a tube- I will be yours. Even if the kaleidoscope doesn't see that far. I will be yours.

0

May 23, 2014

May 23, 2014 at 8:45 PM UTC

Kaleidoscope

Seeing you first thing in the morning is like looking through a kaleidoscope. I cant really tell what I'm looking at because my vision is so blurry, but-my god is it beautiful. I don't get to wake up to you as often as I'd like. But when I do, I look to my left, or to my right- depending on how much shifting I've done in the middle of the night- and I say.. "Oh goodness, this pillow looks like her." But then I realize that it is you. I had just forgotten where I am because waking up to you is so abnormal. Then- What comes next is the wave of nerves, and I mean WAVE OF NERVES- that comes over me when you purse your lips- trying not to smile back at me. I can't help- but to throw at you, an endless string of generic compliments- like- "You are, so beautiful" Or- "You look so good without makeup" But they aren't generic to me- Because they are true. But then I say something really ******* stupid. Like- "Your nails....... feel like.. nails" Ironically- Nails, is a word with a couple different meanings. Like- Fingernails. Hammer and nails. And like how I just nailed you. But hey- I put just as much time nailing you, as a man would, hammering nails into the beams of a house that he is building for his own family. Not that you took a really long time- Or I want to put a family inside you- But- You are a masterpiece. What I'm trying to say, Is that aside from your brilliant mental composure- Your thousands of beautiful blurry reflective faces- And your superb taste in men- Example being me... You are wonderful, And I look forward to building more houses with you in the future. We could have a castle with a mote. We can have a pet dragon. As long as I have light- And a thousand busted mirrors in a tube- I will be yours. Even if the kaleidoscope doesn't see that far. I will be yours.

52