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Quinn Jan 2018
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
Quinn Jan 2018
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
Quinn Jan 2018
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
Quinn Jan 2018
as we walk the shoreline
the sea erases us,
an eternal gift of returning
things to what they once were,
something we rarely get
to experience in this world of
metal and stone

i think of the ways i wish
my brain would wash itself,
forgiveness eternal from the
bliss of forgetfulness, no
longer enraptured by replaying
shame, defeat, and hurt on
sleeping eyelids

freedom does come with
the change of the tides
Quinn Oct 2017
tiny toy town

if i could take my shears
and cut you a cloak from
this dark night sky, i would

the yellow water squiggles
remind me of your pupils

we're doomed to wonder,
trash heap with motor
or whale, for eternity
Quinn Sep 2017
mother, mother, mother,
you give and you give
and still there is not enough,
never enough for the fools who walk
in eternal damnation with only
fire extinguishing the desire
that drips, long and thick from their lips

your pulse it slows, and still you
feed us and hold us and lift us up
to safety while the wolves steal
your ribs one at a time, your lungs
collapsing in on themselves as
your last gasping breath provides
the push we needed to escape

oh mother, you're trembling now,
but your warmth matters not to
the vultures who peel your skin
off slowly to make coats from
the softness that surrounds you -
what do they need coats for?
they know not the difference
between desire and need, and
their beaks are sharp, so, why not?

strand by strand they steal your
beautiful hair and weave crowns
for the men who wish they knew
for a moment how to create, but
alas, they'll never know the beauty
of birthing something like you do,
the way it feels to grow life
day by day deep within your womb

mother, i can see it now, in your
hollowed cheeks and raspy voice,
the way your bones are barely
bound in flesh, your movements
are shaky and your eyesight it fades,
and the one who once loved you
no longer cares to show you the way

with each night that passes his light
shifts to shine upon the sharks that
have come because of the blood,
your blood -  he thinks that the fish
that follow will feed him too, but
they are only symbiotic pieces of the
same murderous school that will
tear him limb from limb when
they are finished with you

mother, he'll never understand,
the hunger that he feels is not
to be fed, for the minute it tastes
the flesh it will hunger until it
eats him too and there is no relief,
no reprieve, no release, no,
there is only certain loss and death

but you, mother, you will return
and wrap your arms around your
fallen children and weep until the
ground is saturated with your love,
until the shuddering of breath begins,
until your heart beat stirs us back
into living, only to ****** again
Quinn Sep 2017
i've turned into a wild mountain woman,
conquering peaks and balancing in poses
on a cliff's edge. my strength is my
greatest gift, my solitude, my greatest joy.
the trees and breeze my only loves
until you stumbled upon my worn dirt path.

learning to love myself through the one i choose to love

with each step along the shores of my
pristine, clear heaven I can feel your
breath in sync with mine, the trees
sway and question the heavy footfalls
alongside my short strides, and my mind no
longer lingers on each leaf, petal,
sound, no, instead it's your eyes i picture
when i inhale deeply and close mine.

learning to love myself through the one i choose to love

to share this moment, this magic
where my roots find home in a place
that i'm beginning to realize that i've
always known, the glassy water reflects
how well you fit right by my side, and
my heart whispers, "go ahead, dive."

learning to love myself through the one i choose to love
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