Crazy chick that I work with,
How are you today? Calm the fuck down.
You’re a mess - not that anything’s wrong with that.
But you’re in my workspace, which is not your workspace.
Also, your mouth babble, eye gestures and body jerkins seem
To indicate that you wish to communicate; alas, could you
Coherently convey an idea, who would want to receive it?
Please vacate the workspace and return to yourspace.
Have a nice day.
Old, adorable little houses,
girls dressed up in chiffon blouses,
all the songs we used to sing out loud at night.
It could of been the way you looked at me,
or the fact that we're made perfectly.
When I'm with you, everything's alright.
Long, wasted rides in subway cars.
Looking up in Brooklyn to see the stars.
Hand in hand, we made up our own team.
It could of been the alcohol,
or the way you tell stories you already told...
but something got a hold of me.
Wine boxes & bottles stacked in the room.
Papers and books of things we need to do,
all the clothes I stole from your closet.
It could of been the sunshine that day,
but I think it's you who made the clouds go away,
and I'm so happy I have you to call my best.
We took cabs to unfamiliar places.
Kissed boys with hot, and not so hot faces.
By your side is where I want to stay.
It could of been the smoke in the air,
or the way we dance and forget to care
but some how we always found our way.
Tripping & stumbling into the room.
Smelling like candy & juicy perfume.
Some how, people always notice us.
It might be the way we laugh out loud,
or the way your smile stands out in a crow.
This is forever, that you can trust.
Other people's stoops where we took refuge,
doing all the things we were told not to.
We danced in the rain and laughed so loud it hurt.
It could be the wine, the booze of the beer,
but when they ask me my answer is clear
I say; "I like me better when I'm with her."
As I sit here alone,
thoughts of you fill my head.
I go over and over
what you meant to me,
what you still mean to me.
You touched my heart,
like no one before.
Our memories totally surround me,
with every waking moment -
they are the last things I feel
before I retire at night.
Dreams of you weigh
on my mind and wake me.
This is when I miss you the most.
Our lives are on different paths now.
You are taking time
to figure out what you truly want,
even though I already know,
but have no control over it.
My wants rest in your hands.
So, I tread forward,
pretending that all is well,
while inside, I feel like I am dying
without your love -
your love that supported me;
your love that sustained me.
your love that completed me.
Now, I am lost without it.
You have asked
if we can still be friends?
I knew this would be
hard for me to do,
even after all of the hurt.
So, I took some time
to mend my heart,
and I learned to forgive you -
with open arms
I welcomed you back.
Things are going well,
however, I remain so guarded.
I know that I must be this way,
so as not to be misled.
You tell me that you understand.
Yet, truly, do you realize
that I have given you one last chance -
one last chance to remain a part of my life?
This is all I can afford to give you anymore.
I am trying to move forward each day,
by taking small steps,
instead of one giant leap.
Sometimes I feel like
I am making progress;
other times, I feel like I am failing.
Time is all I have during my transition.
One day, all wounds shall be healed.
Time will tell what becomes of us.
One thing I know for certain is,
even though I am moving forward,
you will always feel
my spirit close by -
this same spirit
that will always care for you
and wish you well.
Vicki A Zinn
I remember the first time I met you;
we looked into each other's eyes
and were mesmerized.
I remember the first time we danced;
you held me tight and kissed my lips.
I remember our many hours of sitting,
hand and hand on the couch,
and how I would just stare at you.
I remember the first time you said,
‘I love you’,
on the night that all celebrate
the coming of a New Year.
With our thoughts intertwined,
I remember how we could
finish each other’s sentences
and how we would laugh
at each other's jokes.
I remember most how we
could make each other smile.
I finally believed I had found
the one to complement me.
I remember how you would sing to me;
it would make me feel so heavenly.
My heart would beat so quickly
each time I heard your voice.
I remember our long conversations,
about life and love,
and how much it meant to us.
You told me that I
was everything you ever wanted.
I remember our dreams
of living together
as one happy family.
The vision we longed so much for.
I remember most,
how much you once adored me
and could not get enough of me.
I finally believed I had found
the eternal love to complete me.
I remember how I truly felt
you were my soul mate;
that a higher power
brought us together for a reason.
I remember how I stood beside you,
through the good times and the bad -
you knew you could
always depend on me.
at your weakest moment,
I pulled you through -
you knew that I
would never turn you away.
I remember most, how you said,
I was the reason you
were the man you had become.
I no longer know what to believe.
But for now, I am filled
with grief of our memories,
which consume my thoughts,
and flood my heart.
I ask myself,
“What was so wrong with us
that you chose to end things the way you did?”
I am so lost, and oh so lonely,
since the day you said goodbye.
I wonder if one day
the different paths we are now following
will ever meet again?
I am now left to pick up
the pieces of my life,
while you seem to not have
a worry in the world.
You say that you still love me,
yet, you want to be free.
I know that I still love you,
and wish we could go back
to the way we once were, together.
With time, do you think
you could feel the same?
Is it truly possible
after all of the hurt caused?
I still believe
we made the perfect couple.
We truly were happy, at one time.
Just know that I remember,
I will always remember.
Vicki A. Zinn
please have a lovely day
do not let worry or stress get in the way
do not forget to take today as a gift
and if you need a little something of a lift
think of everything that makes you smile
because tears dry up so fast, they can't stay more than awhile
and there's no reason to be afraid
we're luckier than most, we've been given another day
free of charge and completely our own
the Earth is so delighted to be our home
to house us and give us energy and life
don't let that stupid person holding the knife
keep it in your back and tug you around
sad people are one's who relish on a frown
but do not give them permission to cause you anything less
because let me tell you, you do deserve the best
to jump and to
feel like you can
to be happier today
than you were yesterday
because you are
don’t you worry now,
it’s all about to change
you told me
you were going to change
to be a better you for me
and you said you wanted
so badly to make this work
taken all that you are
taken all that i’ve got
i gave you every bit of me
and you tried to give me
every bit of you, but
it was too difficult
for you to try to love yourself
when you were giving
so much of yourself to me
don’t run away from all this
it can cause more than you think
before i didn’t want to let go,
i wanted to keep believing that
you’d be able to love me
as much as i loved you
i’ll be gone
so turn your hands in
and now that i’ve let go,
it doesn’t feel like you’re gone
more so, it feels like i’m the one
who has left you standing
with your face in your hands,
wishing you’d been able to be
a better you for me
don’t you worry now,
it’s all about to change
i don’t doubt that one day
you’ll be an amazing you
for someone else
and that one day
it’ll all make sense to both of us
don’t you worry now,
it’s all about to change
and i don’t doubt
that one day
i will find someone
who will love me
as much as you wanted to
"we're not psychologists, you know"
yeah, but we can pretend
we sat under under canopies of pine and oak
and i just watched them hold eachother day after day
until we felt like everything was going to be grand
it felt less like a therapy
more like a drug
Irrelevant are the revelries
that cast themselves upon me often.
Like beaten and weathered souls
we walk amongst the dead, whilst living.
Blackened hearts; unwilling, yet copacetic.
Life has come routine and bland.
The cold, and dampened sound
of another numbing day in and out;
only livened by the thought of you.
A pure and shimmering light
that echoes through the mundane.
Screaming out for me to be the change I dream.
How is it we hear each other; so far off shore?
Come drift into my widened pupils and remind me of who I once was.
Innocent and genuine.
Setting fire to my every fiber, this magnetic masquerade must end.
I feel I am made for something more when I am standing in your warmth.
So would you remind me of who I am, before the sunsets again?
And would you free me from the currents, that have long since been sweeping me out into darkness?
I tried to quit smoking last week. And my best friend died for eighteen hours. Such a deep loss has only been felt by rose hips, in the early winter, after the petals have fallen to the ground, like snow, like jumpers from high-rise buildings, like a maiden, after that last, fatal step off the plank, with swords at her back, and the horizon calling to her, the song of the Sirens drifting up from the ocean floor. Dropping, like petals, caught in a harsh winter breeze. The left-overs, the carcases of the flowers that were and are no more, watch with eyes of sorrow and hearts of lead, as each friend, companion, lover, even casual aquaintance plummets, to land on the already frozen soil of a dead, snowless, Colorado winter.
I died with my friend. My roots were tangled, and with each second that passed, a million axes took bites out of them, feasting on my identity. The axes were only gold-plated, it would seem, and not pure, unadulterated precious metal. Engraved in the paper-thin facade was a name, a face, and a hope, all of which were merely a poor excuse for an excersise in willpower. The cold, iron blade shone through the thin, gently curved lines of lip and ear and eye made of nebula. With each breath that passed between loosely parted lips, I felt myself fade, giving my everthing to the world (hope, name, face) that had, only moments before, murdered my closest companion.
My eyes grew steadily hard, increased stone-content. By 6:30, I had been staring into the eyes of my mistress, Medusa, for at least two hours, my head filled with love songs and daydreams, clutching straws and holding out for the one perfect moment that would shed a brief light on my life, which is, in all reality, the afformentioned pirate ship, but void of lamps, candles, or any other means of illumination.
Questions flowed to the surface of my disjointed mind in a stream, a river, an oceanic current of molten rock and sloppy second guesses.
(Will one hurt? Half? Just one puff? Why? Why? Why?)
And as I turned to stone, I finally found the courage to answer one of the questions that my brain shot itself with, injected into its own blood stream. The question was the sole bullet in a revolving, high-stakes betting game, the answer, the fourth trigger pull, with only two chances left anyway.
(Because... I don't know why...)
So stand up, go to the place you have thought about two-million times, and, yes, smoke, smoke, smoke that cigarette.
As my friend rose from the dead, pushing aside the boulder blocking the entrance to its tomb, which everyone knew was just a temporary tenement, and we were reunited, we spoke of fascists. Well, I spoke of fascists, it listened. I spoke of the kind of fascists that exist in grayscale television commercials, spewing ingnorant words about the untimely deaths of beloved family members, who give me dirty looks in public, and have forced me into alleyways, across streets, out of sight, out of mind, to the back of the bus, as if non-smokers live forever, as if everyone can accomplish said impossible feat, if not for the evil plant, the evil spiritual plant that poses a threat to the well-ordered religious structures, pyres built for martyrs and long-dead saviors.
I have only begged for eternity once, and I was very young, with years of rocks and hard places ahead, only pink clouds behind, and eyes incapable of foresight. This boy ate apples, and drew on his arms with black pen every Sunday. Go into the church clean, bathed, come out with temorary full-sleeve tattoos. This boy was made of wonder, myth, and blind acceptance. No longer.
I have now gazed into an eternity made of open graves, lost loves, and harsh, barbed-wire truths, punctuated with sharp, jabbing exclamation points of brief pleasure that only seem to make the reality of eternity worse. I am a masochist, and even I don't want that. A body can only function for so long without sleep before the motor wears out, the radiator breaks, the gasket leaks, and the marbles flee from the growing insanity of their owner. We all need to rest eventually, and in my secret mind - the one that grimaces with sick pleasure and only shows its teeth in the lines of a poem, slightly blurred by metaphor - I long for that sleep. I am tired, but the day is only half done. But each sun sets, and we can not deny it that truth, that sensation of finality that settles upon senile eyes like a cataract, that snuggles against warm, pink lungs in all its black, tar-like splendor.
Truth, like so many other things in this solar system, only takes shape when under the eye of a microscope, with a passive viewer sewn to the end of it, with the sole intention of passing judgement before shouting "NEXT," and repeating the process untill they either run out of things to judge (blame, think, guilt-trip) or die.
So, smoke, smoke, smoke that cigarette. Puff, puff, puff it and let us hope they never get to either of us, old friend.
We all create an idea
We keep it in our minds
The idea sits in the waiting room of our brain
Longing for the voice of the human nurse
One day when you are sitting alone and thinking
This idea is going to a government official setting up a name
Mr. Bill is the name our brain has chosen for this wonderful idea
You rise from the bed thinking of other things
thoughts that create life
Or that make you feel meaningful
But these are all false ideas
Because there is only one idea that will ever matter
Mr. Bill will always be there
Waiting for the moment
To pounce and become
The dream that you and everyone you have ever loved
Have been ever so dreaming for
That moment when everyone