Say something. Say anything.
My mind is a war zone.

Ammunition loaded, open fire on my sanity.

We think we’re invincible.
We think we know every dusty corner
and boarded window of this existence.
We think that we are impenetrable.
Not even we can penetrate ourselves.
Until we do.

Until we find the one solitary loop hole
that exponentially increases to ten solitary loop holes
to fifty solitary loop holes
to such an infinite number of solitary loop holes
that you cannot even form a complete thought
because you know it’s targeted directly at your
own consciousness, at your own dignity, at your
own fucking heart.

We manage to discover these loop holes
because we predict their outcomes.
We predict the goddamn future with our
careless decisions and our arrogant triumphs towards
happiness.

And suddenly, we’re humbled and broken
and irreparable because of our own fucking
psychic minds and our own naive
ideas of happiness.

And now we’re all lying in a pile of rubble.

Our souls ruined and tainted with no one
left to help us pick up the pieces of ourselves
because we were all too fucking selfish and
proud in our poor attempts at satisfying this
morbid existence.

Then we wait the eternity it takes for these
self destructive ruins to lose their pulse,
to fade into an alternate universe of silence
so we can quietly slip away from this
vial consciousness.

We wait
until the heartbeat of these run down,
dirt covered left overs of ourselves finally
goes still.
We wait
until we learn to live in the pile
of shit we call ourselves;
until we realize that we
are our only destruction.

Since that day of tear wretched relief
fueled by simple words of release
My mind has been in a fog of self pity.
Pity flamed by the media and doubts hovering so near
That finally broke the surface of my outward self confidence.
Could I be loved again?
Did I deserve love again?
Do I want love again?

Who could love someone else's trash?
Who would want this used and abused body and mind?
Who?
Who?
Who?

The days and weeks and months flew and dragged
In ceaseless toil and endless motion
Despite my frequent protests
My frequent denials
My frequent mournings.

When do these burning doubts extinguish?
When will my mind stop this downward spiral through the rabbit hole?
When will the me I use to know be exhumed?
When?
When?
When?

It is believed that someone
enters your life
for a reason, a season,
or a lifetime.
You came into mine
for a reason -
a reason to show me
that life does move on,
even after all of the pain,
and disappointment,
has now brought me
to my lowest point.

Your presence lifted my spirit;
it gave me a reason
to believe in myself,
to believe in you,
to believe in us.
You gave me a reason
to smile again;
a reason to hope
that, finally, the void
I was feeling was now filled.
All of this you
brought to me
in such a very short
period of time.

Now that you're gone,
I want to thank you
for the biggest reason of all;
you helped to relight
a fire, from mere ashes,
that had burnt
out some time ago.
For this reason alone,
I will always be grateful.

Vicki A. Zinn  
2008

Finally, I broke...

I picked up the sharpener
and put down the pencil
took out the blade
let my pain become a stencil
for ruby tattoos
to tally mark broken hearts
how much blood will it take
to hide the scars?

The ends of my veins
are tied off with guitar strings
to keep the sad song inside of me
but I still worry that my blood will stop flowing
because did you know
that the ocean only moves because of the moon
and my constellations are fading
these waves are waning
it is only a matter of time
before the push and pull of these tides
stops like a kid too heavy for the seesaw of truth or dare

I dare you
to tell me that feeling nothing is better than feeling pain
because the heart
is nothing more than a muscle
bench pressing suicides
trying not to flatline
playing a marching band of panic attack drum rolls
and skip-a-beat silence
It has to feel something

and I can see it in your eyes
the truth found you
I can see it in the way you hold yourself
as if your bones have been hollowed
and are as thin as eggshells
I can hear the pain in your breathing
tell me where it hurts
and I will build you a ribcage out of my scars
because they have always been more solid than my bones
in the same way that I never believed in god
but I have always known about the monsters under my bed

Finally back home.
The amazing Texas sun shining on my face.
The warmth spreading through my body.
Listening to the sounds of the nature,
as I walk through the woods on my family farm.
Feeling safe, loved, and happy.
Surrounded by the family I haven't seen in months,
Some its been years, others I have never meet until today.
Just loving the feel of the rifle that is slung over my shoulder,
and the ammo in my back pockets.
Everyone is laughing and eating and talking.
As it gets darker and people start leaving...
We light the bonfire and the heat emanating off of it...
is too intense to even stand by.
When the day finally comes to an end,
I'm just happy that I am finally back home!

When people talk about everything thats wrong with kids these days,
I say to just look at how they are raised.
I was taught to judge people first by their face,
and second my how much money their father made.

I was taught that if it was weird, it was gay,
but if it was actually gay, nature had made a mistake.
I was told that the kids with cuts on their arms were only looking for attention,
and that the differences between us could be seen in complexion.

My brother was raised exactly the same way,
but every day I am reminded that he never changed.
And when I open my mouth I am accused of brainwashing him,
but I he still doesn’t care even when I get him to listen.

I only escaped out of necessity,
when LGBT became a part of me,
and I couldn’t bear to look in the mirror because I only knew one type of beauty,
when I had to accept that I would drown without therapy.

The world looked a lot different through orange pill bottle goggles;
I could finally see that the apple had to fall far from the tree,
or I would become part of this society that kills every dream,
and tells you there are endless possibilities then ties you down with material things.

I spent three years breaking myself into pieces,
trying to find my broken heart and replace it with one that did not have lines drawn at every divide.
Every minute of it hurt, but not more than the hate I had for myself,
or that awful feeling that I had hated someone for just being themself.

Still, on the inside I am stained.
I am marked from every time my family spit a venomous name.
For awhile I thought that what they didn’t know, couldn’t hurt me,
but then I spent an entire weekend under my bed because their words left me so empty.

But this is the price I pay for privacy.
This is what comes from being a wolf in a family of sheep.
It’s more like being in shackles than wearing false clothing;
I can’t even howl at the moon because what if they heard me.

If this is just how they were raised, then who should I blame?
When does a person become at fault for not being able to look past the things so deeply ingrained?
Who am I to ask them to use their brain and think for a change,
instead of doing what their parents taught them was okay?

I am the daughter that can’t bring a girlfriend home.
There is a reason that they will never get to hear this poem,
because I am their daughter who locks herself away in her room and tells friends she’s busy,
I am their daughter with out-of-control anxiety and depression that they don't bother to see.

I spent three years falling apart and I wouldn’t take their hugs.
I was always holding myself together because I knew that I would never let go,
but it’s funny how having your arms trapped around you feels just like a straight jacket,
and you can only take it off when you realize that you aren’t alone.

There are thousands of kids diagnosing themselves on the internet because their parents won’t listen,
and thousands more who hide everything they are because they just can’t take anymore scars.
But what I’m saying is the opposite of comforting,
because there are hundreds of thousands of people just like me.

When people talk about what’s wrong with kids these days,
I know that the ones they’re talking about are the kids who struggle every day,
not the kids who turn the keys that bind our chains,
and all I can think about is was this really just how they were raised?

I want to test the structural durability of my body
See the strength of my skin
Bite and break my bones
Shed and finger paint with my blood
At least then I could finally make a mess
My OCD clean up everything mentality
Thrown to the wind blowing and
Yet again bending backwards
With a cut throat slit neck decision
A split second mind numbing category
Of guess which allegory I'll use next
A fixed gear fear with one pedal
Driving the next one ahead of the other
Unable to feel the free wheel coast through life I desire
So I say I again
I need to know how strong I am

March silent by me
For I finally sleep.
In life,
They made me march to music,
And those who never wore my colors
Called me hero.
Now,
I'm thankful that
I needn't hear their voices,
For I live within a land
Of eternal sleep,
Where only truth lives,
So we call each other
Only by
Our rightful names.