When he was away
I sent him picture messages
Of me holding signs
Proclaiming
He was the only one for me.
That our love was endless.
That one day, we’d have the house, the dog, the stocked wine fridge.
And I doubted it was true
Even as I wrote them.
But it was the fantasy to believe in
That he and I,
Two world-class fuck ups
In our own rights
Could finally
Not
Fuck this one up.

What once was joy and laughter
And holding hands on public streets
And feeling validated from when he would call me sexy
Quickly became
Lying on bedroom floors
Sobbing to the carpet
Heaving for breath
Wondering how it ever came to this.

I love to hate him.
The scars you see
Are ones he gave me
As I experienced the worst of
Neglect and
Abandonment.

We allowed ourselves disillusion
When reality became too tough
When hands that were holding
Felt like squeezing
When air we were breathing
Was suffocating
When love we were feeling
Became suffering.

I thought about all those signs today
Those signs I put in the “his” box
That he collected when I wasn’t there
Because I didn’t want to see him
And I wonder what he did with them.
If he threw them away
Like he did with us
Or if he has them still
And wants to be reminded
That he still fucks everything up.

Sometimes life presents challenges,
which at the time may seem small,
but instead, appear insurmountable.
Finding true love is one of the hardest
tasks that humankind, as a whole, faces.

Many see love as pure fantasy,
reciprocal, requited, and unconditional,
as true love is meant to be.
This kind of love brings contentment,
and internal peace, which can be unlike
any euphoria you have ever felt.

This love intoxicates and exhilarates.
It will lift you higher
than the tallest mountain,
and make you feel fuller
than the deepest ocean.
This love will make you feel whole,
and complete, with the
joining together of two lost,
lonely souls, once wondering adrift.
in an union that fulfills.

But, for a select few, this ideal of fantasy is
more of a reality filled with heartache.
That same reality can bring us to our knees,
and the pain alone can smother us,
to the point of not being able to breathe.
Then comes the constant cycle of hurt,
emptiness,  and anger, which draws us back
to the source which has caused such emotion.
It leaves us begging for the pain to stop;
sometimes making us yearn, to once again, be with
the one who has caused us to feel such turmoil.

It is an addiction unlike any other,
caused by the fear of being alone
and starting anew.
We now find ourselves
sacrificing our own self,
to maintain a sense of familiarity and safeness.
Not realizing, but instead blinded by memories,
that this reality is showing us that it
was just not meant to be.

It takes time to mend a broken heart;
time on our own,  to discover our true self-worth;
time to realize that love will find us again.
We will encounter a struggle, unlike another,
to overcome our fears of distrust and vulnerability.
Many lessons will be learnt, along the way.
But, with strength and perseverance,
all of the time spent healing,
will open our heart to a brand new beginning, one day.

First, we must realize, that deep within our own self
lies the ashes of our once brilliantly burning heart.
Only with time, will our pain become manageable.
Yet, we will always wear
the scars of a love gone bad,
as an embattled soldier wears his own, from a war lost.
But, choosing to not allow this to consume oneself,
is a true challenge, in itself.

In the end, deciding when we have had enough,
is what will allow the reopening of our heart.
We must learn, to not allow the pain to truly hide
the one thing that lies right in front of us – opportunity.
Sometimes this opportunity,
is a new love, that is more fitting than the last.
A new love, one that will ease
the loneliness that
envelopes us like a blanket;
a new start with someone who can
love, respect, cherish,
and adore us,
more than any ghost of our past.

We all have the power to turn
our reality into fantasy.
However, never lose sight,
that even true love is not perfect,
and neither are we.
We all make mistakes; we will disappoint.
Not all of us will possess the means, or desire,
to hurt another on purpose.

It is the search for a soul, that mirrors our own,
which will be the hardest struggle.
This struggle can be won with one true fact -
not all people are alike.
Once we open our mind, and our heart, to this,
all fears and inhibitions will melt away,
as the sun melts the snow, in early Spring.

With this sign of rebirth,
our new love will be unlike
all we have experienced before.
But, we must never allow our past
to dictate our present,
which will ultimately decide our future.
We must find that power within ourselves,
to overcome the reality,
by embracing, and enjoying,
the new adventure, and path,
we are about to undertake.


Vicki A. Zinn

February 2011

Do you want to live forever?
said the Gardener to me,
tending to a creeping thought
and watering the sea.

I replied, no, but thanks, you see,
I'd rather be a tree.
And spread my branches out
to
shelter creatures underneath.

A tree? A tree? He whispered tentatively.
Why, I can't remember what it be.
That word. That thought. That memory.
He shook his head and shrugged at me.

(So, I scratched a crude drawing in the dirt
and The Gardener squatted there, pondering at it a while.
His robes lifted up above his bony knees)

But I do that too, said He, jumping up quite suddenly.
Pardon me, but I just don't see the need.
The need to be a tree!
Just beg a princely role of me
and I'll fulfill your fantasy.
I said thanks..but.. well, you see,
I'd rather be a tree.

He paused for quite a while.
Then said okay, a little hesitantly.
Then said, that he would not be that okay
until he sees these silly things called trees,
and until he sees the purpose of the thing it is
that means so wonderfully much to me
to
want to be a tree.

So he turned me to a tree and put me in a park.
Where couples came and families
and cuddling lovers in the dark.
And colored birds were friends to me
and I sheltered all of them beneath.
And spread new life through little seeds
and quenched the world its need to breathe.
And in the autumn dropped my leaves
to feed the insects in the weeds.
I stretched my roots in
luscious ground and saw such beauty all around.
I was
old and happy as only a tree
could ever wish or hope
to be.
And then I saw that a familiar face was watching me.

And He said..

You are quite naturally a tree
and have done so extraordinarily well in green that I will let you be to live your dream.
And as he walked away,
he smiled happily back at me.

I wanted a pen
to write my dreams
to silence my screams
to dwell in imaginations den

I looked at the sky
head in the clouds
asked out loud
a plaintive cry

I forgot my request
got on with life
lived through strife
survived the test

I entered a contest for fun
drew a quick sketch
third prize I fetched
oh my, a sky pen, I won

I took it as a sign
to rekindle my fire
this victory inspired
me to pen a line

I’ve found a lost love
a forgotten joy
a much adored toy
a gift from above

It fulfills a need
feeds the soul
makes me whole
I’ve planted a seed

It grows and grows
can take over
I’ll never recover
from poems I sow

I’m soaring, floating
following my pen
escaping reality again
sweetly, softly, drifting

My wings are stretched
I’m travelling worldwide
nothing can hide
nothing’s too far-fetched

Dilly-dallying my day away
strolling down fantasy lane
with my pen I’m playing
brain and hand gone astray

Am I like Dumbo with his feather?
Can I pen without this pen?
if it broke, what then?
Could I even write a letter?

Firing words from pen
shooting from the hip
no risk of punch in lip
safely hidden in my den

Writing stops many a row
it’s a release
iron’s out many a crease
to it’s power I bow

Freedom is anonymity
let emotions speak
coming out, not for the weak
it brings accountability

My pen has the loudest voice
speaks over my own
doesn’t need a microphone
to listen, I’ve no choice

On day’s pen’s not working
I await listlessly
eyeing it continuously
ideas, hovering, lurking

This pen is now an obsession
an all consuming need
I’m overcome with greed
interrupting can cause agression

My time is no longer my time
it’s now ruled by pen
I’m let of now and then
but frequently called back to rhyme

I’m skimming the stars
for inspiration
battling frustration
wish I could traverse on Mars

On make-believe’s loom I weave
today I want to celebrate
pen and I co-operate
it’s absence I’d grieve

I’m living in cloud cuckoo land
this writing lark is easy
and never makes me queasy
everything, today, is grand

Pen has a quirky way of being
some days very liberal
wouldn’t want to take it literal
problems invisible, I’m not seeing

Today pen writes in language of love
expressing itself from the heart
roses and kindness it imparts
fits me snug, like a glove

Whispering sweet nothings in my ear
making me write all twee
writing cute and pretty
causing my dog to leer

Your like a pringle
once I pop, I can’t stop
you make my feet bop
my senses all a tingle

I’m your willing slave
marvelling in your ways
writing in a blissful daze
your company I crave

Now your just being rude
everything you write is naughty
getting me all prim and haughty
I’ll have to work on your attitude

I need to go to sleep
rest my weary head
your inkwell, your bed
don’t want to hear you, not a peep

We lay together lost in fantasy
Restless gazing upon different ceilings
Giggling in the remembrance of word plays through long days
Where we still manage to provoke smiles in the midst of our dull lonely ways
Your voice vibrates through a long distanced line
that we both dream of crossing some time
And though time may be a troubling thing
we push on with love and curiosity
Your voice rings sweet melodies to my imaginative tendencies
Damn this longing
It's time you cross over and claim your belongings