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Quinton Weston Mar 2012
Everybody hurts just a little too much

Everybody hurts but it's never enough

It's wonderful to fall; let's love and risk it all

The call to relief overwhelms us

Because we hurt a lot, and we want it to stop

Love is like a rock in the fall

Cool to the touch, but rough when struck blunt

And when struck it wakes us up

Then drenched in sweat we can’t ignore
Not the wound, nor its source

It was love that slammed itself into us

And nearly comatose from its ****** we rebound with distrust

Forevermore we step back, waiting out the strike

Living in timidity of future loves of our lives

For if we commit to love too much, then the strike could destroy us

So we love with half a heart, so as not to be hurt.

So we live safe as we move from stone to stone

But I think we should grab it tight, despite what we fear

I'd rather love just a little too much.

Not enough to prematurely erode the stone

But enough to never slip my hold

So much so that it will only drop if I choose to let it go

Yes it hurts to grab it tight

And it hurts to feel the strike

But holding on firmly is the only way to be sure

Sure its not a flight response

Sure its really what we want

For what gives us our most lumps,may be what’s best for us

Living in fear will always hold us back

So I hold a little too tight

Thinking maybe you might reciprocate and smile
Quinton Weston Mar 2012
I used to scream and shout. ya see I had to get them out.
I could never get them right.so I felt some odd delight in grabbing their attention In the warmth of that spotlight.
I didn’t care if I was an octave too high, because I had their eyes, I had their ears.
I wanted to move them to tears, so they could feel how I feel,
then I wouldn’t feel so bad.
I wanted an avenue for attention. Why not? I’ll be the only one on the stage.
I’d think, “look at me here” and “all I want is for you to look and hear”
but that’s so childish, so selfish, so not what I wanted to be
so I needed a new reason to write and to speak.
And I’ll admit some of that selfishness is still there, but I’m prepared to do much more than just make people see me.
I want to inspire the next needy artist
I want people when they think of me to want to work their hardest.
True I want people to fall in love with my words,
but I want the lines and verbs to do more than just impress.
I want them to absorb what I’m speaking. I want them to speak back.
I Want to see what you have to say just to see if maybe it’ll affect me too.
And if you do maybe we can sit and talk for a few.
Quinton Weston Mar 2012
Our world falls down like a house of cards.
And again were forced to build it back up but its never the same.
We forget the ace, the eight, and a few of the spades. And it makes a difference.
We become indifferent to each others pain at times
And time again we retreat to a false sense of intimacy.
Which fools us into thinking we love each other
Not to say we don’t love one another but (****!)
Why must it always take a trip to the bedroom to feel better?
I mean yeah its an attention grabber
and hell yeah I’m a go getter but
I’d sooner believe it was butter before I think the phrase I uttered to you
or you uttered to me had any real meaning,
least not while were squirming under the sheets ; only there cause it seems the right place to be
WELL JEEZE maybe you shouldn’t ask me my opinion if its hard to swallow.
do you want the red one or the blue one?
The one that makes you forget
or the one that makes you admit that nothing’s perfect, least of all us.
Way too fragile to ignore the wind
We got to make sure this house doesn’t come down again.
Better yet tear it down now (blows)
For we need a better foundation.
You want satisfaction?
Have a little patience
for every time we rebuild we go a little higher which means if we don’t fix this soon it could all come tumbling down….hard.
and we’ll end up suffocated
beneath the cards
and the *******
And the longing
And the tension will do nothing but **** us.
So lets not rush through this.
Just a little bit at a time.
Level by level
Emotion by emotion
Trust by trust.
Love by love.
Card by card.
and if we keep at it not only will we set a world record
but our skyscraper will scratch the heavens
and more than anyone else will leave each other breathless.
Quinton Weston Mar 2012
Sweat drips down her face. Down her chin. Down her *******.
Its getting in the way
So she gets reckless
So she heaves it over her head
And runs
The shutter slams behind her
But she doesn’t look back
Only forward
Only forward
Only forward
Wayward warrior stuck in motion
Sweat and tears lubricate her body
And though her mind is getting wobbly
She stays up
Even when she hears the gun
Even when she sees her blood
Even when his voice erupts
But it’s getting bleaker by the second
For her run is now a crawl
And in no time at all
She’s been dragged back to that bathroom stall
Now her liquids work against her
Before they were just in the way
But now
They augment her pain
The Blood
The Sweat
The Tears
They Drip
He smears them on her lips
Then he shoves it in
Shame fills her up again
But all the while she breathes
With a gasping open mouth
She’s not broken yet she thinks
But give me more is what she pleads
Which makes him get more into it
But she’s not lookin to be intimate
So she takes the stall and slams him into it
He thinks she thinks he’s dumb
So he then just calls her bluff
But he doesn’t notice how much she’s losing blood
But she hears it trickle on the floor
And before he can defile her anymore
She uses the blood as leverage
To slip
and Bring him to the floor
Then there is a crash
The toilet is smashed
And the only thing broken is the porcelain
And his skull
She’s alive
She on top
So she gets off
And takes him out
She looks down
And pulls up her pants
Then she winces
At the sudden realization
That she once admired this tyrant
In another time she would have liked it
But once she admitted her potential desire
She knew it had given her the will to be the survivor
Quinton Weston Mar 2012
As we jirate to the melodies of truth and deceit
Every minute of our days we choose who we are going to be
Its no secret what we think
Whats wrong or right
Or anywhere in-between, our actions confirm our binaries
And show our true beliefs
Through action, what we can see
For if you really care you’d put your neck out there
Otherwise you pretend not to care
For silence is conformation
That you not only understand the world
But approve of it
“it doesn’t affect me, so who am I to say how it should be?”
Is a cop out to avoid responsibility
For once you know you have the power to change
But we’re so comfortable nowadays we don’t engage
With the politics
Each other
Controversy
Unless it’s at the **** of a joke
Or said in conversations with friends who will forget of what we spoke
Its sad to know that people will suffer much more of our inaction
Than actual ignorance
Because our voices are significant
But we’re been soothed into complacency
Not necessarily lazy, but the fellow man or women doesn’t mean a thing
Unless of course it directly affects us
And really the amount of people who genuinely care for other human beings
Are seen as naïve or some special kind of being
Either way they’re seen as a kind of minority
But all I’ve ended up doing is preach
For you already know
Out that other ear like so many times before
But let me hope that a fraction of it sticks
And you leave this world having actually applied your influence
That you leave this room and don’t forget or disregard
That the struggle of any human is the struggle of us all
That you don’t just leave having had meaningful conversations
But that you actually try to solve what we’ve been ignoring for so long
Quinton Weston Feb 2012
Hearts beating like drums. All Synchronized to each other, spurring our tongues to speak, our minds to think, our souls to be…. united. In dreams and aspirations of education, influence, and love…All we ever wanted. Simplified till it sounds like a king speech, as if that’s the only way to think. But all our ideologies are as different as our English is from hieroglyphics. Similar pictures can mean different things; like a gang sign slightly varied can mean death on ill tread streets, where people think there is no where else to go but down, trying to keep their head up but not learning to swim.  we can all do the backstroke if we devote some time. And we learn faster with a teacher. A friend. A collage. Anyone who has dreams. Anyone who has a heartbeat. This drive can supersede obstacles we see .and we all have the capacity. And the truth of this is in this room. With you, who may have swallowed water but never quit, not willing to submit to whatever unfair ******* arose from the septic tank under your life. And your heart’s still beating. I know you can feel the rhythm. we all can. So don’t let your shortcomings remix it to a beat that’s not your own or an inferior version of your song. Because when we step back to listen and you step up to sing, we find that our differences don’t estrange us as much as we think. Were all on the brink of understanding, so don’t be afraid to open you ears or your mouth or propel your self with action you know will make us proud.do it despite the circumstances that cloud our judgment to inadequacy. Be more than a king speech but don’t be above us for we all have dreams. We are all our own person, but we are still our people. Stand up. And don’t be afraid to do it together. It’ll only make us stronger.

— The End —