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Quentin House Jan 2015
I'm sorry I am short.
I'm sorry I'm not tall.
I'm sorry for every imperfection, every flaw.
I'm sorry I wear glasses.
Forgive me for not wearing fancy clothes.
Money doesn't flow in my home.
I'm sorry I am broke.
Life
Quentin House Jan 2015
What am I to you? Am I some pawn, some marionette that you can bend and twist and break at your own command, am I some old shirt with a hole that keeps getting bigger."Oh I can fix that." Your mother proclaims but you shake your head and toss it into the trash bin without even wanting to fix it.
Tell me what am I. You use me, toy with me, break, bend, hurt, stomp on, spit at. I'm I some toy, aren't I? Left in the back yard years ago, aging, drying out,  and melting away at the heat and seasons that go by.
And all because.
I fell for **You..
Quentin House Jan 2015
Every day, my demons let me know I am still alive.
Not to motivate, but to taunt; snickering as I walk by the bathroom, I get so frustrated I scream and call for family. I am always told. "Don't make me get my *** up to see a empty room!."
Does she not understand, the demon, red as can be are standing right there.

I continue my day, get home from school, the demons decide to not follow me until I realize they were waiting. Bursting into my room they throw me on the bed, and hand me a razor, and make me go at it, I can't stop them, they make me smoke, I can't stop them.
But... I don't know if I want too, it gets to the point where it feels natural, all the pain I feel, makes me feel good.
I get so close to slipping, but then something only the insane would believe.
I am saved, by an angel of light, she herself; hurts on the inside, but she shows me the true light of life with a smile.
And I can't thank her enough.
Because the light feels.
**Nice..
This is a poem for my best friend, almost a sister to me.
She is a lovely girl, and a awesome friend, thank you Selena.
Quentin House Jan 2015
You are not the same as you once were.
You're crude, like black Licorice.
You're dark, like the shadow that haunts us in the day.
And that consumes us at night.
You're a monster now..
But don't worry.
**So am I..
Quentin House Jan 2015
How can someone so Perfect.
Feel so Insecure.
With scars on her skin; cuts and burns.
Yet still wants to hurt.
**More...
Quentin House Jan 2015
I'm a little dysfunctional.
Don't ya know?
If ya push me it might be bad.
Get a little emotional.
Don't ya know?
Fool around and make me **Mad.
Lyrics. That are so true to me.
Quentin House Jan 2015
Gay.
That is what I am, or so I think.
I love boys, they make me feel weird.
I get skittish near a boy who says anything nice about me.
I giggle like a school girl, I blush and I get goofy.
But...
I am hidden; From the world outside my shell.
A egg who is yet to hatch.
A refugee, hidden from those who are there to
Hurt..
I scream and kick and snarl at those who
call me *******, Queer, or ****.
.
They think they are smarter than I.
Smart enough to use a word that means
THE SAME THING.
And laugh at me, laugh in my face.
So I cut, and lace away at my flesh.
Totally brainwashed by the idea that I am not perfect to these standards of living today, that I am abnormal, some call it. Different, or a monster to society. But I keep going, scars on my arm show me I can beat them.
I didn't choose to be gay.
But I sure as hell Love it.
My view on those who hate upon my fabulous that flows through my veins.
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