Listening To Molecules

who stole your pearls? who ripped into your shell without mercy, leaving you shattered, thirsting; mourning? who broke you and told you that you weren’t the all supreme of your own being? who closed your eyes; made your love die, until every cell, each fiber, ached from the heartbreak? who reminds you of your exquisite existence? who holds the mirror to your spirit? how often do you go silent, waiting to hear it? who taught you validation came from confirmations outside of your own musical lips? you are a gift. sing to your ability, for you are fulfilling the path which you have chosen to morph into being. you are freeing your love, one stumble at a time. stay steady on the climb. you have almost arrived.

~K~

The Open Mouth Contraption

I am watching myself in third perspective. I am feeling myself in first perspective. I am doing both of these things at the same time as I sleep lucidly dreaming.

I am prone on a metal table. My head is secured with something, maybe a strap. I can’t quite make it out. There is a metal contraption holding my mouth open. It has been open for hours, maybe days. My lips are three times their normal size. They are cracked and dry. My throat is screaming for water. I fade out.

Now I am wandering through a market. There are vendors everywhere selling fruits, vegetables and various wares. The market is packed with people. I feel conspicuous and paranoid that I will be recognized. By whom I do not know.

My hair is grossly disheveled. I can sense that I am confused as to my whereabouts. I cannot make out the ethnic or planetary  race of the people manning the market stands. They are shadowy and fading in and out. I don’t know if they are human or if I am in another country on earth. I feel taller than them.

I am unsure what planet I am on. My lips are so dry they are vastly blistered. I focus my view in on my mouth in order to assess the damage. They are horribly cracked, dry and swollen. I am cupping my hand over my mouth to shield them, not from embarrassment, but from being recognized. I feel that the condition of my lips will give away that I have escaped. From what I do not know.

Who have I run from? Who am I hiding from? What am I looking for in this market? Something to moisten my mouth and throat.

I wake up at three a.m. desperate with thirst. I stumble down the stairs and fill up a glass of water that I gulp and re-fill to gulp again. Cake. I am craving sugar. I shove pieces of it into into my mouth to curb the sudden craving. My lips are actually extremely dry. I slather them with Chapstick before falling back into sleep. I awaken into the day feeling the sadness of this world’s indifference, and I escape to the woods with moistener for my lips.

Did I travel? Am I remembering? Or is this just a dream? This life is confusing.

I Don’t Have a Boyfriend, and Apparently That’s My Fault

A male friend told me that I don’t have a boyfriend because I don’t want one.

What does that even mean?” I asked.

He said “You want too much.”

It left me perplexed. How is that possible? How can I ever want “too much” when it comes to the peace and comfort of my own existence.  This does not even equate in my own mind.  No.  Those days are over; you know, the suffer in silence type of give in to bullshit type of not going to do that anymore because I matter to me now.   Say that twice.

So what should I do?” I asked him.

I love to ask questions of people to satisfy my fascination with psyche; to listen to the thoughts and words of the human; soak them in and read what lives beneath their skin.

Like quit being so picky. You know, if a dude is married, for instance, sometimes he’s not happy or it’s on the rocks. That doesn’t make him a bad guy. Like, open yourself up.”

::BLANK STARE. TRULY. BLANK FUCKING STARE::

That doesn’t even need explanation. I’ve been that route. It’s called self abuse. Now at this point, you guys, I’m giggling to myself inside, in a hysterical kind of “am I really hearing this ridiculousness?” kind of way.

I don’t have a boyfriend because I don’t want one. I don’t want one because I want too much like…

laughter
time
special presence
dedication
loyalty
passion
integrity
ethics
stability
commitment
insane sex
understanding
acceptance

you know, all those far fetched things that might take a little,

emotion
giving
selflessness
true interest

Yeah, the type of things I tend to freely give in a relationship.

Once, I sat across the table from a man who said, “I just need to get me a trophy wife.”

I got offended. Then later learned what a trophy wife was and immediately stopped being offended. There are just some superficial terms that I didn’t understand the meaning of. Trophy wife was one of them. When I found out what it meant, I immediately thought “Oh no. I don’t want to be one of those.”

Emotionlessness does not become me. Putting on airs is not my forte’. Giving a shit what anyone thinks of me is not something that often crosses my mind. I’m me equivalently. I have passions. They matter.  Anyone else’s opinion just doesn’t. I’m amicable.  I have grace.  I form relationships.  We’re not swimming in the shallows, though.  I don’t stay there long.  I like the bottom, where the coral reef and colorful fish live.

Here is my answer, dear friend. I don’t have a boyfriend because I am at peace with my aloneness. I am so at peace with this aloneness that I will disallow anything less than what is at one with my own state of being to enter my temple. If these parts that make me feel at peace do not match the current male existence that is floating in my grid, then I am fully at peace with the resulting aloneness.

I haven’t time for small talk, and I love to be silly. I am deep as oceans and crave savant conversation. I like silence that is not mistaken for anger. I can ride in cars and listen to music and not need to speak. I am most comfortable with space and time around me. I need to be allowed to BE. And if that means being with only me;

Then okay. I am in acceptance.

I have moments I long for touch, to be held to a chest, looked at with tenderness, surprises and early morning not giving a shit breath, but they do not override my unwillingness to bend from what contributes to my heart’s happiness, and the greatness I know that I am.

You see, I believe chivalry was murdered during the feminist movement when human beings mistook the right of women to have equal pay, equal treatment and the right to vote, to mean we no longer wanted to be involved in romance and connection. Illusion killed chivalry. Feminists didn’t.  Apathy replaced empathy, and that is a choice.

and I figured that all out… alone.

[image credit: “The Arrival” by Paul Bondart art – paulbondart.com]

Kaleidoscope

So much to say,
Once held back
By attacks I
Retrace my tracks
As silently they
Watch and wait.

It won’t dissipate.
Fear is an illusion.
I invite these intrusions
To include truth
Even if it hurts you.

Surgery is painful
To the human skin.
Ignoring the wound
We can rot from within,
Until we travel
Into the core
Where the bruises
Feel sore;
Where it smarts
In the center of the heart.

Still we must start
Somewhere;
Must lay it all bare,
Stare it in the eyes,
Avoid denials and
Dive into the places
That hold the aching.

Hush, my baby,
It’s okay to cry.
Here’s my shoulder.
I’ll wipe your eyes.
I’ll believe your stories
And hold your tears.
Inside this liquid
It’s safe here.

My soul is a monastery.
My heart is a choir.
If I must sing
To ignite the fire
Then let the chords
Be absorbed
In molecules and phrases
That disengage us.

Kaleidoscope
So full of hope,
So etched with worry
It smothers the sound.
If you continue to run
How can you ever be found?
If you keep closing your eyes
You’ll forever be blind.

I speak with home.
She tells me to shout,
Embrace the newness,
Expel the doubt,
And somewhere in between
It will all be found out

Even if the guns resound
In the hopes to drown me out;
Even if all that’s left
Is a stem
A string of what once was me
I will still be shining,
Floating infinity.

Vennie Kocsis
venniekocsis.com

Holding Wishes

What is it like
To be granted a wish
When your first kiss
Was laced with bitterness,
Taken from a tender lamb,
A brutal sheering;
As if wool doesn’t scratch
And skin doesn’t bleed?

What is it like
To live a lie,
A life robotic, stoic,
Steps broken,
Words unspoken,
Fake smiles to the others
While never touching another
In a hug or
Underneath the covers?

What is it like to keep secrets
Buried so deep within you
That wine cannot give them words
Blood cannot release their ache,
So you ignore the pain,
Behavioral matter churning
While energies are burning
Into ashes
As your life passes?

I can only tell you
What it’s like to see
Things I wish I didn’t
Inside lives
Inside psyches
Where illusions become truth
And in the end
All that’s ever left
Is you
Alone in the dark matter
Watching the roaches scatter.

So instead I will
Tell you about a soul
Dancing in the twilight
To avoid seeing your midnight
Because it makes her eyes cry.

I’ll sing you a song,
Orchestrated by sadness,
Conducted by madness,
Numbed by satiation,
And I’ll call it
“Dysfunction Station”.

I’ll tell you what it’s like
To be without shame,
To own the bitter reality
Without the crutches of blame,
To say this is me
So accept and believe
Or leave and excuse
For there’s no win or lose
When you’re the one
Who gets to choose.

But here when I stand in the sunrise
And I find myself gazing there
Until its brilliant red sets
I know
I see
I feel
The real
Meaning of happiness,

And it’s not coated in sweetness.
No.
It’s filled with acceptance
And letting go.
It sees self in the mirror
And smiles back
In the midst of sadness
And repeated set backs.

There’s a bliss
Inside of the awareness
When one realizes the opposite
Of feeling nothing
Is feeling it all,
And so,
I fall
Fall
Fall
Into the dismal call
Where hearts weep.

It is a solitary sea,
This vision where I am
Left holding these fading wishes
Never granted.

v.k poetry
©venniekocsis.com

The Voices

What do you allow your inner voices to say to you?  They sound a bit like this, yes?  Are they telling you positive things?  They should be!  If not, you have the control to listen only to the loving voices.

Rapt

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and that was
the day she stopped speaking
abruptly
out of the blue
without warning

and the silence
hit the rooms like tunnels
occasional echoes of laughter
held only in memories

no songs
nothing

just silence

just a long, accepting
breath that understood
how very few were
really listening
not with ears
but with heart

and so she bathed
in the rapt absence
of her own voice
ringing melodic
angel choirs
in the corridors of
her mind

and she became
one with herself
because in the silence
so much is heard

Vennie Kocsis