Do You Want To Know Why I Won’t Let You Get Close? Circa 2005

I spent the last couple of evenings sifting through CDs of writing going back almost 15 years. This poem was written in 2005. It really took me back to the cusp of my pain. In those days when I felt deeply haunted, poetry was my soul’s literary life saver.

Do You Want To Know Why I Won’t Let You Get Close? [circa 2005]

You want to know why I wont let you get close?
Because the last one I chose
Made me cry.
That is why.
You want to know why when you speak of love I run?
Because this is what I’ve become
Torn by pain
Dying in the rain.
Do you know why I am hardened and disenchanted?
Promises are always recanted
Broken and discarded
Cannot finish what is started.
This is the aftermath of fires that become ashes,
Of personality clashes,
Of unwillingness to change
And the attempt to put on chains.
I sleep alone with my fear in the night.
No beams in my window from the moonlight.
Stop smiling at me in the way.
I hear you, yet you have nothing to say.
Bitter growls disguised as precious words,
But you represent to me silent hurt.
You want to know why I’m turning my back?
I cannot view the qualities you lack.
A part of the common population
No separation.
Do not ask me anymore questions.
This is the meaning of rejection.
I say no, you ask why,
And then I cry.

Becoming: A Minute Spoken

A Different Kind Of Damaged

You are a different kind

Of damaged, chaotic mind

Confused you use words

As projection swords and

I see the hurt behind the eyes

The reflection as your soul dies

Lie by lie by lie; the ones you

Tell yourself are true so you

Have a good enough excuse

To dart the arrows with no regard

Of the blood flown from hearts

Torn apart by your anger and

My mind says danger. Danger.

There is pain too deep to touch,

A hole that one could fall through

To end up in a deep abyss

Of your untethered loneliness.

Such a sunflower shouldn’t die

Drowning inside an inability to cry,

You sip illusion, a savory wine;

Your mirror, a self-made design.

Everything that makes you wince

Tells you what needs love’s attention

As you ignore. Ignore. Ignore;

The parts of you so bruised and sore.

I can only sit and observe,

The winding streets of your hurt

Hovering above the purity

Stolen from your childhood

An inability to develop so you

Scrambled and scratched your

Way through life; numb the wounds

With bottles of booze, laugh away

The moments draining your happy,

Regret and listing what you’re lacking.

I feel slightly stoic and disinterested,

An odd reaction, to not feel sorry

For the churning of your own hurting.

When light floats inside your air

You call the darkness; safer there?

No more minutes can pass me by.

I’m swiftly running out of time; must

Focus forward; head held high

Silently take the podium and speak.

Empowered woman. Empowered me.

©️ VennieKocsis

Plasma and Jasmine

Babies are born to mothers
Who smother their faces
With kisses so in later years
They can reminisce about
The times they were loved,
Smile at pictures and haircuts
Remember what is; what was.

This distant, unknown feeling,
A Daughter to a host,
I cannot connect my soul,
Never recall the soft
Loving arms of her; she is
Fog wisps blowing distant
Narcissistic and wounded.

Not everything on this terrain
Is born and grown the same.
We were children being hurt,
Seen and not heard,
Dissociated to white clouds,
Horses and song birds but
We never heard the words.

No encouragement, you see
We were the scourge of earth,
Sinners and whores and
The bearer of scars from
Battles and wars with
The worst of humanity.
When you have seen
With the eyes the way
A spirit can die slowly
You never view this place
The same; in a way
The Loved observe.

Soft, the colors speak
In languages, singing,
And suddenly the layers fade
Nothing matters, not the
Tatters of Aftermath or
The worn out Disasters;
Life is lived floating
Inside the hoping like
Plasma and Jasmine
Swaying in the winds.

Vennie Kocsis is the best-selling author of Cult Child and the hostess of Survivor Voices Show. She is an advocate, poet and artist.

Behind the Stars

“The Eyes Don’t Lie” by Vennie Kocsis

purchase at: http://bit.ly/2CkTWgH

You are hiding behind a star,

and I cannot find you

through the maze of

constellations.

You are elusive.

I climb the clouds,

searching just to see

the eyes behind your mist.

What is this?

What is this place?

I have found myself among

the unknown, and

I don’t feel at home.

Come find me, lover, otherkin.

I am waning in the tide,

piece by piece I melt

into the cool swell.

If only I can evaporate,

I can return to the place

of my birth where

you wait to take me back

into the arms that

keep my soul safe from

the harm of humans.

Vennie Kocsis

Author/Poet

Shunned

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“Unacknowledged” graphic art by Vennie Kocsis

Where is our place,
we ask each other?
They write books and tell
the stories of dozens,
except us, forgotten,
our grief shunned,
held silent and we
have no place to call home.

So we create our own shell.
We enter it and sometimes
our ethereal strings connect,
and just like children
we talk through invisible cans.

Left behind.
Standing to the side.
We are the shadow lurkers.
The odd ones out.

Look to the left and right.
Seeing our fellow
survivors cry and they
can’t speak yet
can’t talk about what
they hold inside.

We few who have found voices
left over from the dripping
anger of Sam Fife’s horror,
stand in our huddled group
so small, it becomes miniscual
buried inside of
the bigger picture
belonging to the ones
who have each other.

We look at one another
realization settles into our eyes.
It’s just us against
this waning world.
Others shouting they stand with us
from distances so far
we are left in the familiar
hole of knowing the words
won’t match the action and
there’s always a catch.

The cusp of the feel is real.
The truth of the eyes which
never look at you
are black, the skin sallow
and we follow our own souls
walking this path alone.

Vennie Kocsis is the best-selling author of Cult Child and the hostess of Survivor Voices Show and her live Sunday broadcast Off the Cuff. She is an advocate, poet and artist.

Shards

Shards

And in the end
All she wanted
Was her own piece
Of heaven
Where her chest didn’t feel heavy
Where smiles felt real
And she could be free
Away from the ache left
From picking up shards
Of her beautiful heart

Vennie Kocsis is the best-selling author of Cult Child and the hostess of Survivor Voices Show and her live Sunday broadcast Off the Cuff. She is an advocate, poet and artist.