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Quinton Weston Mar 2013
I sit here.Hunched over my computer computing

What will become of me?

This lonely mess of an almost man is mostly at wits end

But just when it counts

Like blanking out on a test that can’t be redone

Its no one’s fault

But all my fault

Though statistics say you can only fail just so much

But just enough to feel like maybe just one more try

Just one more try

Which turns into two

Three

Four

Then You find yourself counting backwards

Waiting for time to be up

So you can hand in your paper

So you can convince yourself its the way it had to be

Or at least the way it is

You look at it objectively

You omit words like I and feel

So you can still sleep at night

Or at least not cry in plane sight

So you can still fight

Just one more time

One more time away from oblivion

Cause one is all you need

For its the last step that kills you

That throws you from that cliff

That precipice

From wince you can never return

So i make sure i’m always one step behind

That fine line

Between giving in

And getting up

But eventually you get tired

Of standing. Disappointed.With nothing much to show for it

But a pat on the back and a better luck next time

With that hope in your eyes

But it hurts,almost like sand

Till the tears dissolve it

and all thats left is a brutal reality

Thats must worse than we deserve

But then you look at it objectively

And know.It must be just what you deserve

Which is too much for all the kind words in the world to reverse

So I stand.

Counting forwards.

Counting backwards

But always stopping at one
Quinton Weston Feb 2013
When your voice shakes,it may mean you have something powerful to say

Don’t betray yourself by stifling your soul

The world is so small,and life so short

we take so many breathes only to sleep

And waste so many more pretending to be

Anything

So why not use This one

Or this one

To say something important

You already know what it is

That thing your body hesitates to reiterate from your brain

Whatever it may be,say it anyway

Even if your feet quake

Your voice shakes

Or your heart breaks

At least you had something to say

Many don’t even become that great

And that absolute truth for you

May just open the gates

To a reality you’d never imagined you’d face
Quinton Weston Feb 2013
You say you can't write a line?

let me take you under my wing

Let me teach you how to rhyme

no it is not a crime,you'll shine

and in time

you'll compose lines and lines

long enough to knit a scarf with

it'll trail behind you as a monument to your greatness

clothes not really your taste kid?

don't worry cause thats not all you can make

shiiiiit

we can make it into your favorite

steaks on plates or halls of fame

its so close you can taste it

so just be patient

as we break down your hesitation

while we direct you to the angle you will soon be facing

a college cultural center

a crowded barroom basement

anywhere which you can make a statement

it doesn't matter if its abrasive

normally regarded tasteless

as long as its something that you created

i don't know how long it will take kid

for time does not measure greatness

however i will say this

if you keep working on your craft

it will transform into a spaceship

to be honest it will be a while before i build my own

but that don't mean we can't hone our words strong enough to cut the fuel with

so say you can't make poetry again

for i am determined to show you that you can
Quinton Weston Nov 2012
We don’t know what dreams are…Scientifically
But we know what dreams are
When we first wake,we know exactly what they are
In the cold sweat of a nightmare
Or the soft embrace of a perfect dream
It all seems too real
Fantasies and disasters play and replay in our mind
In the middle of the night
we close our eyes and see
A world that seems right until we wake at dawns light
A place of extremes and discrete details
So real we could swear they occurred
If only for a moment
Though truly thats all we need
For that second of disappointment or relief defines us
Tells us what we really want
But does that explain what dreams really are?
Now thats a question for your mind at dawns early light
If you have the mind to ask yourself at such a haunting time
Quinton Weston Nov 2012
Tender hearts hurt most
blood seeps from the most neutral touch
most recognize their fragility
But not all have sympathy
For many have hardened their hearts to survive
“so why not they?”
“why should they be spared the pain?”
again and again the heart beats,whether calloused or not
All are fraught with misery
Both the tender and hard-hearted
which proves that neither by design has been harder fought
All hearts strive to beat,and despise being beaten
And all deserve reprieve from their degree of weeping
Quinton Weston Nov 2012
Tender hearts hurt most
blood seeps from the most neutral touch
most recognize their fragility
But not all have sympathy
For many have hardened their hearts to survive
“so why not they?”
“why should they be spared the pain?”
again and again the heart beats,whether calloused or not
All are fraught with misery
Both the tender and hard-hearted
which proves that neither by design has been harder fought
All hearts strive to beat,and despise being beaten
And all deserve reprieve from their degree of weeping
Quinton Weston Nov 2012
File my heart under fragile
For it hasn’t been handled with care for so long
That I forget it wasn’t made to withstand such torture
The brochure that came in the box said “no warrantee available”
And that didn’t seem a problem since it wasn’t too tangible
But that in no my made its protection manageable
See it has this defect where it attaches to people it deems loveable
But its assessments are usually miserable
The results of such endeavors seem ironically laughable
And in the end it sits in a stagnant pool of blood and tears
I stir it like a fool would, and drain it when its too full
But it doesn’t stop from making the same mistakes
This stupid piece of flesh I hate twists when I seem right as rain
Theirs no warrantee, no cash back, no trade
So what happens when it finally breaks?
Well its obvious and it gives me shakes
But I rake in all the love I can
Hoping to be a better man
Despite this heart that hurts too much
Trusts too much
That seems to be best at collecting dust
In hopes that I can keep it going as long as possible
Even through making attachments that aren’t too logical
For it could **** me to bear it
But I really wish to share it
So if I perish in the process, I guess its my fault
For putting it in harms way, when I really know better
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