Moving Day

It's Moving Day!

Wow... while that really should be the title of a new poem, it is not yet. I am just announcing that I have moved all my material from this blog to a new blog titled Victoria's Closet. Come check it out and give me a little feedback to let me know what you think. See you there!

http://victoriasclosetpoetry.blogspot.com

Victoria is my Name

I was born Victoria Lee Stewart in January
In a small retirement community a full week into the new year
Yet I was the New Years baby

I once asked my mother who I was named for
A queen perhaps, or a far away city?
"No" she said, "I just thought the name is beautiful- you are beautiful"

But she didn't call me that beautiful name, instead she called me Vickie
She spelled it in a different way then most
with the "ie" on the end instead of a "y"
Nobody ever got it right

It rhymed with all manner of unpleasant names
Which I suffered throughout elementary school

Vickie, Dickie, Sicky, lickie, Mickie, picky... icky

Finally I had the chance to re-brand myself
A move to a new state when I was nearly 12
Now I was Tori...
No longer gangly, and awkward, with buck teeth, and stick out ears
I was tan and tall and pretty and I was "The girl from California"

And Tori didn't rhyme with anything gross

The move was no good for a girl with no self-esteem however, instead it proved to be a disaster that set me on a path of self loathing and self destruction

Suddenly attractive to boys and with out compass or sanctuary
I became victim to the whim and desires of others
Mississippi holds no fond memories for me
I cringe at the thought of meeting someone who knew me then

Leaving Mississippi behind did not remove its shadow from my heart
The shadow cold and lonely followed me thru Arkansas, Okinawa, New York, Connecticut and back to Arkansas again and Wisconsin and Florida and Arkansas again, and again to Arkansas

The dark times were dismal with this shadow overhead, no light could penetrate. Anguished nights spent screaming into the dark,
Cicadas roar covered the sound with no purchase found in those days

Years passed until I finally made another move
To a new place inside myself.
I decided to grow into me
I know it sounds too simple but that was just what I did
I left behind the old shadow, the shame and solitude
I changed from the inside out, my food, my outlook
I nourished myself in ways that have nothing to do with my address

I am Victoria now and forever
I am beautiful and free

Three

The Bible speaks of discernment
To hear and understand, but to think as well
Not to follow blindly but to study
To know and to lead

There are three

Three men who caused the pain
Three of offspring to suffer

There are three

Three faces of man to make it right
Three of offspring to live

From the day of Adams sin
His death began and it spread
To suffer in the sweat of his face
To eat the fruit of his war

To the resurrection of Christ
His death repaid and he reigns
To suffer his Kingly throne
To witness the wages of sin

There are three

Three lives of the children
Who eat the lies
Three children to suffer

There are three

A man we await
Who was once and forever
Who has left but not gone

There is one
A love to suffer
A truth to tell and understand
One truth
Discerned

Rembrandt http://www.mirrorservice.org/sites/gutenberg.org

Proverbs 8:1

Is not wisdom calling out? Is not discernment raising its voice?

The Purple Cigarette Case

As I walked into the cabin up on the Missouri mountain that first time, my ears still buzzing from the shock of learning about Ramona, the very first thing I laid eyes on was a purple cigarette case lying on the rustic wood coffee table. I took in the wood paneled walls, the striped earthtone olefin sofa set and briefly noticed the scent of the place. Musty, stale smoke, some kind of sour whiskey or beer... but my eyes kept going back to that cigarette case. I hadn't seen that case in a few years but I recognized it immediately. It was Ramona's case. I had this hysterical thought that they were wrong, they had to be wrong! Ramona was obviously just in the other room... there was her cigarette case right there on the coffee table after all. Oh and look here is her purse on the floor beside the couch.

I got up and wandered around a bit. Not my house but it didn't seem to matter. Ramona's mom, Nan and her cousin I had never met; CJ and... Ashley! Oh my god little Ashley...  with those big round eyes just like her mother...were there too, they were talking, everyone seemed excited and lost all at the same time and I just couldn't focus on them no matter how hard I tried. The house was small. Only 2 bedrooms. It was furnished like it had always been there. The furnishings and decorations placed by some elders in the family years ago and left to be attended by whomever happened to currently possess the house. But there... and there. A cigarette case, a purse, a calendar on the wall.  A doll on the floor of the bedroom, a sweater... my god that was my sweater! I had forgotten she had taken it so long ago. Notes scrawled and stuck to the refrigerator under a magnet. Little pieces of Ramona all around me. Somehow I knew they were her things even if I hadn't seen them in years or ever before. I could feel Ramona in every room. They weren't her rooms she had only been there what a month? Two? But she was there now big as life just the same. Any second she would walk through the door and laugh at all of us being so silly; crying and carrying on.

I sat on the couch and tried to focus on Ashley. Six years old, an orphan so young! My mind drifted again to a letter Ramona had written to me just a few years ago. Ashley must have been a baby then. She reminded me of her health. She had become a diabetic so young, at the cusp of her years of teen angst. She rebelled against her disease as hard as any teen ever did against parental rule. She had smoked cigarettes and weed and popped pills, drank and partied like she was fulfilling her destiny to die. They had told her she would not live to see 21 years old. But she was 21 when Ashley was born. The years of self abuse had taken their toll but there she was pregnant and hopeful for the future. She had written to me and begged me to take Ashley if she should die.

We were kids, she and I; 19 and 21 years old. What did we know about wills, lawyers and custody agreements? Yet there was Ashley before me. An orphan.
Reflecting on the events of the day, I thought about how crazy that I should be sitting here at all right now. That Ramona should be gone and I am here.  We had planned the trip haphazardly as we usually did things. My marriage crumbling, Ramona had run from hers and was now hiding in the mountain cabin with her cousin.

We had spoken on the phone several times since she had left Orville. She kept telling me, "These people have MONEY!" She had told me all about impromptu helicopter flights to the gulf for shrimp, and obscene money spent on booze and barbecue and everything under the sun.

"They work in oil, you know, THAT'S where the money is," she had said.

Looking around it didn't seem like they had money. Land yes, they had land. The cabin sat on I don't even know how many hundred acres. She had wanted to buy me a plane ticket to visit; hash it all out. Somehow I was sure that my visit would result in my divorce.

I had rushed to the airport in Hartford, Connecticut this morning; an hour drive from Groton where I lived with my husband, Aaron and three kids. unable to find my address book with the new phone number at the cabin. I wasn't able to call to verify our plans for several days before the trip. I was worried but ultimately I trusted her to know my flight information. She had bought the ticket afterall. In retrospect it seemed odd to me that she hadn't called me... but then I was under so much stress at home myself, and really Ramona was like that. How many times had we gone 6 months or more without talking at all only to have the phone ring at 3 am and there she'd be,

"Girl, I know you have a good margarita recipe, right?"

We never skipped a beat, every conversation left off was picked up months or years down the road as easy as if we were never apart.

When I had stepped off the plane into the terminal I was only slightly surprised not to see her at the gate. As I waited for my baggage at the carousel I wasn't really even concerned. I carried my bags to the payphone in the center of the airport and fussed around in my purse for a phone card or cash, I don't remember anymore in the end I think I just dialled collect.
When Aaron answered the phone I asked him if he'd finally found my address book.  Ramona wasn't here.

"Are you sitting down?" He asked me ignoring my inquiry.

"Uh... no, Aaron I'm standing at a payphone in the middle of the airport," I retorted in annoyance.

Then came the back and forth... god he could be like a dog with a bone! Telling me over and over to sit down because he has bad news.,. I was becoming more and more irritated with him as a sneaking dread began to come over me and I was suddenly positive that he was going to tell me that my mother was dead
when suddenly I noticed that Nan... Ramona's mom? Nan was walking toward me.

"Why is Nan here? Nan lives in Arkansas, this is Missouri..." my thoughts were swirling as I vaguely heard Aaron finally say,

"Ramona passed away last night."

"What did you say? Why did you say that?" I was suddenly furious! If he had been standing in front of me I would have punched him right in the face.
Then I saw Ashley trailing behind Nan and I knew it was true.

I dropped the phone and we hugged each other so tight right in the middle of the airport and I was screaming and crying. I think she was too. Ashley clutched at our legs. All the years that she had felt like enemy mom, vanished and she was holding me up. My legs quivered under me and I don't know how I didn't fall. I don't remember how we got to the car. I don't know how we did it without losing my luggage. All I really remember now is the long drive in the backseat, with Ashley leaning over on my lap and then walking into the cabin and seeing that purple cigarette case.

That afternoon we drove back to Jacksonville, Arkansas to Nan's home and the place where Ramona and I had become friends in high school. I spent my two week vacation helping to plan my best friend's funeral. I was grateful to be there, if she hadn't bought me that ticket I wouldn't have been able to get there. That was in 1995. I miss Ramona. Everyday.

Uncondtional Love

I wanted to tell you
What I've learned about
Unconditional Love

Right from the start
I knew that he never had it
Not until he met me

For so many years
I loved that man
I begged him to see
I was giving him everything
He ever asked for
Ever dreamed of
Everything he always wanted
He couldn't see it

I thought - I knew
That we would get thru it
That any minute he would
He would open his eyes and see me
And it would all be worth
The pain, the tears
The bruises
We would both finally have
What we always wanted

I was willing to bear it all
To have unconditional love
And to give unconditional love

Eventually, it all fell apart
The choices weren't mine to make anymore
Still I knew - if I had faith
and I kept on loving
That one day it would all be worth it

What I didn't know was that one day
My baby girl would be 5 foot something
And she would stand and look me in the eye
and say
"I wish you would die"
I didn't know that she could never appreciate
The sacrifices I had made for her, for her brother
For her sisters

I didn't know three angels would
Shut the door to heaven from me
And open their mouths to drench me with
Retribution

I didn't know my firstborn
Would turn her hate on herself
I didn't know that I would be
Forever locked in the hell I made

Because I had loved unconditionally

In the end he never loved me.
Love is a verb you see
And the verb he held in his heart for me was hate
He hated me with his words, with his hands

H edidn't know how to love me
Or anyone else
And he never cared to learn

In the end it was never worth it
Not worth my pain, my tears
Not worth my bruises
Certainly never worth my babies

And these will never learn this lesson
Because I never taught it to them

And now I see her trying to love that way
My baby girl
Giving away too much of herself
To a boy who will never open his eyes and see her.
And she doesn't yet know
And you tell her but she doesn't care

It was never worth it
It will never be worth it

College Scholarship Essay 2015

It has taken me 45 years of living to finally figure out who I am. As a troubled teenager I had no dreams other than to leave my mother’s home. Teenage pregnancy and marriage at 17 achieved that goal. At that point all my own dreams had to take a back seat to motherhood, and surviving the situations brought on by my choices. Years of domestic abuse and self-abuse coupled with a car accident in 1995 have taken their toll on my body. Qualifying for disability in 2009 was the beginning of getting my life on track. Finally having a stable income and home allowed me the time I needed to get a handle on my health and my dreams.

As a mother of four girls and a boy with special needs, life has been especially difficult in my particular socio-economic status. As a thrice divorced mother, my choices have further complicated my situation. When I first attempted to return to school in 1999, colored with these choices and hampered by these circumstances I still did not know who I was as an individual. I majored in accounting because working in taxes was the first thing to which I had applied myself of any importance outside my family and I seemed to excel in my client relationships. Little did I know at the time that what I excelled in was not the love of numbers; but of helping people. During my time at Pulaski Technical College I excelled academically, and came to terms with myself as a writer for the first time.  My Professor; recognizing my talent, tried, unsuccessfully to get me to change my major to creative writing. But I was still going through so much abuse from my current husband at home, I felt that I needed to simply get training to make an income and that my personal dreams were not important. I didn’t have the time to waste on myself. I graduated with honors, Phi Theta Kappa but after graduation, my life finally spiraled completely out of control.

As my health deteriorated, and my family life nose-dived, I survived a complete mental breakdown and subsequent homelessness. I struggled to keep my children and lost half the battle. My dedication to God and my children were the only things I had to hang onto. When I went on Social Security and Section 8 my life finally began to level out and as the years progressed and my children grew I still followed their dreams, not mine. I spent a couple years as an autism advocate and was elected Vice President of the Arkansas chapter of the National Autism Association. My daughter became a singer-songwriter and as her co-songwriter and manager I finally began to dream dreams of my own. I discovered a talent for songwriting and music management and marketing that I had no idea about. When she left our partnership it devastated me to lose my daughter and best-friend but I found that the loss of the music was just as devastating. 

I have since written a book of poems based on my life as a survivor of domestic abuse, I have performed my poetry in front of audiences in Hot Springs with great success. I have also built a reputation in this town and a strong network of friends and colleagues as a music promoter, and I volunteer my time with several music festivals and galleries. I have been told that my help with website development, and social media marketing is unique and invaluable.  I want to continue to dream, to make my dreams come true and others as well. I plan to study the arts and add this to my prior business education to help other artists to realize their dreams. I envision one day opening an artist co-op here in Hot Springs to promote the arts and dreams among young and old alike.  The arts have opened up my world to possibilities I never imagined and I hope that many other people can be inspired as I have.

After 45 years I finally know who I am. I am a woman, a mother, a special needs-parent, an advocate, an activist, a dreamer, a poet, a song-writer, a social media coach, an artist and I am a survivor. 

The Local Show Music Menagerie at Whittington Place

Victoria Meyers doing a reading of her original poetry last night at Whittington Place for the Local Show Music Menagerie.

Posted by Melinda Horn on Saturday, June 6, 2015

No Tribe of My Own by Victoria Meyers (30 of 30)

Trapped in a short tunnel
Feeling like a hot poker stuck
In my shoulder
Can't think
The shiver runs up into the
Back of my neck like
an ice pick

Anxiety tries to overcome
My best intentions
Knowing what's right
What's true
With no audience to listen
No peer to be found
I have no country
No tribe
No family
How did this happen?
Whenever I get this way
I'd like to have a couple
Of strong drinks
Always comes with being broke
Maybe I should take up stealing
Lying and cheating
At least they think they're free
Think they're having fun
No brains no headaches

Grandma's Boxes by Victoria Meyers (29 of 30)

Talking to Max today
I said, you know I'm trying to let go
Of this box I've held around me
All my life
THIS is how you
SHOULD do it
Then when I can't really meet
That goal- I've proved that
I'm just a FAILURE

I told Max today
I don't want  you to fall into
This kind of a trap I set for myself
She asked me, "So why do you do it?"

Reflecting on the question I mused
That it must have been my mom who
Told me over and over how
You can't do this thing
Or reach that goal
Perfection unattainable
Unreasonable expectations

Max told me today
Don't let Grandma's boxes
Box you in
They're all full of dusty old memories
Dust them off and make them shine
Have a yard sale and get rid of them
Who wants to buy Grandma's boxes?

The History of My Heart (Conclusion) by Victoria Meyers (28 of 30)

The history of my heart concludes with hope and longing for the future.

It doesn't really conclude because it still beats here in my chest.

Though it flutters from time to time, it shudders from the memories and the damages and ravages of time.

Still here it beats, inside a great black hole in my chest and the hollow thudding echoes in my bones and my steps.

This heart is weary but not worn out. Resting but not yet done. Perhaps it can find the strength to love another again? Not now, not soon, but maybe.

For now this heart is learning, to love me. Learning to uncover the truth in a memory and the harsh cold reality without breaking. I feed it with self loathing, and memories, and dreams purged from my guts and re-digested truths.

It trembles and quivers with pain and exhaustion. Yet still it beats.

Each new day the tide changes, the burden is lighter. I do not mean to forget the lost ones, who still are trailing my progress.

I will never let them fall further then I can see them, but they are too far to catch me soon.

The history of my heart cannot ever fully conclude alone.

It can end,

Yes; it can stop beating, though it doesn't., even as hard as I have tried to make it stop.

I've pounded at it and even tried to cut it out with a knife.

There it still beats inside that iron box, that great black hole.

My quivering damaged heart begins to glow with hope ever still.  

The History of My Heart (Part 4) by Victoria Meyers (27 of 30)

The history of my heart has a latest chapter. One of exquisite love and ultimate horror. It's name can only be called, pain. With death, and death, and new love and hope dashed. Wings spread and soaring heights of love that fall and fall and fall to a fiery burning depth. It was going to be the final victory and it became the final torment. The depths of the mothers torment and the wife's desire know only the rule of heart.

Salvation found and peace and joy cultivated for nothing and lost, maybe forever? The sins of the father, on the son are nothing compared to the sin of Eve on my child. On my heart. A wicked indulgence to be so bold, so crass. To question Jehovah, God, the only way to peace and the furthest fall from grace.

The heart that finally found the greatest love, that finally found the highest purest love and then lost it. The heart that finally found the most exquisite peace and the joy and loss, and loss and broken carnage of soul.

The heart polluted by the demon that came in so many forms, the trickster. The lover. The death. The pain.

A beach, some wine and sweet sweet promise of death yanked away. The fall of hope rising, and falling and rising and falling again. Like a Ferris Wheel ride. My heart could take no more of the dizzying heights and garish carnival lights, looking down on the crowds of soulless mournful ants and wind rushing through the iron spokes the roar of the wind, the hideous musical joyous ride of a lifetime.

Where does one go to find such pain? Arkansas. Florida. Anywhere it seems.

The history of my heart has not ended. The history of my heart continues to unfold. With sickening hope it blinks its moist eyes once again in the sunlight, in the morning mist. It hopes, it breathes it refuses once again to die.

Three deaths are visited upon this heart this life, pray it will not be four, pray it will be released. Pray it is forgiven. Pray. Pray . Pray.

Pray the vine grow forth from my fingertips, thru my pencil tips. Pray the vine with heart shaped leaves will spread its lush green healing over the girl in the chair. Pray the vine will carry the forgiveness of the light thru its lifeblood to overtake the pain, to overtake the life and soothe away the shame.

Pray the vine heals, the green love spreads far and wide and covers the earth with hushed softness and rainforest strength of the oldest and tallest and strongest.

Pray.

To Be Continued....

History of My Heart (Part 3) by Victoria Meyers (26 of 30)

The history of my heart moves on to tell of escape from hell, and landing in the fire. Of horror high school and sweet first love turned sour. Of blurs of keg parties, and punk rock glimmers. School parades, and dances, and secret whispers. Of epic breakdowns and adolescent psychiatric wards. Of pills, and razors and sex, and weed. Learning to drive and stealing cars. Of the contrast of ROTC and uniforms. Of trying to change and being slapped back into my place, of growing away instead of up.

Teenage pregnancy and teenage marriage to a man who should have been in jail for our love. A black love that followed the course of slum and slime that my life had become,  had been but I didn't know. I didn't know who else to be. Reactionary actions on the part of a contract-uary obligation.

To the day when I walked into the baby's room in the morning light and saw that shining smile. My first light in a life of hell. She said HI. And she smiled a smile that melted hearts of everyone. No one could resist that smile and suddenly the weights of the corners of my own mouth became less and a smile snuck out of even my own heart. 

But not to be outdone, the darkness returned in full force, as I lay on the floor in a bloody beaten haze and watched the cop at the door's eyes meet mine before I fainted and heard the words from his mouth, “she's just fine, nothing to worry about” and just before the blackness took over and shut out the light forever the cop tipped his hat and walked away – the door shut and there I still lay. 

The history of my heart experiences escape again so very far away, to an island of sun and rain and palm trees.  To life and love and death and sorrow. Broken marriages and disco lights. Giant bats soaring through the night. Waves crashing against the sea wall in C condition weather and me, climbing over that safety wall to sit on the giants jacks and dare and hope and wish that the crash would be my head dashed against the sand. Slime surfing and rock climbing and a girl who would die from falling off of the most beautiful waterfall in the world. And I would take her place. 

To a new chapter, of adult life, playing house and white lace curtains. Return to the real world of snow and loneliness and booze and isolation and running away. To a house in the middle of no where where I would almost lose my mind and my life to a piece of stew one day.  Then back again where the nightmare began, Arkansas and Air Force and Ramona. 

Yet running again, again again. Self loathing and play acting and finally is it real? This time purple flowers on a fan and trolls on a cake- the guests refuse to show to witness the marriage of the golden boy   returning from the Navy. 

Babies and babies, and Avon calling and Tupperware parties and whirling life catching up to me even while the little girl quakes inside. Five long years of southeast Connecticut, and snow, and October beach parties and fresh fresh leaves. Rats across the road form the nuclear submarines.  Pretend, pretend, pretend its all real, its all right, that you feel.

Until that day, the darkness is back again and once again- now she became we -and we all return again back and back to Arkansas. Cursed place of my origins and hopeful play on relatives who just don't seem to care. And that plane flew away and the cloud lifted and I smiled. I thought I was free but I went home and enslaved myself one more time. 

To Be Continued.....

Marks of Growth by Victoria Meyers (25 of 30)

There is no door frame anywhere
With marks tracking my my growing height
No house, apartment or trailer
That I can point to in my memory and call
Home

 In the same way there is no ground
No city, town or state
With roots of mine growing down
There is no school or team I call my own- no alma mater
No fight song or school pledge
There are no reunions that I will
Attend

I am aware that there is a large family
Out there from which I originate
I have no ties to it
No connection or bond
As far as I am aware they don't
 Think of me, they may not know my name
I know they do not know my
Address

I'm not sure but I think
At least some of my own kids
May have inherited this detached life from me
I know there is no door frame
On which you can find a growth chart
Of any of my 5 children recorded
Not in any house, apartment, trailer
Not even in any camper, van or car
In which we have
Resided

Shadow War by Victoria Meyers (24 of 30)

I've spent the morning reading about another family, and another and yet another; torn to shreds by this Orwellian governmental control that seems to seek to claim all children as its own.
Citizens.
It's not just one town, one state, or one country. The stories pour in from all over the world. A child with difficult symptoms, constipation, diarrhea, skin rashes, perceived behavioral issues and mental illness.
The overall consensus in the mainstream says drug the child till they drool. Keep them in a diaper till they die at 30 years old from the years of neglect and abuse they will experience once they've had the permanent insertion of the government teat.
We have not come as far as you might think from the days when we housed our brain damaged "psychopaths" in neck irons in straw strewn sanatorium hallways and cages.
When you hear about the "government teat"*  I have always pictured the masses of doctors, hospitals, social workers, lawyers, school and prisons who unwittingly conspire to keep that money milk flowing as little piglets attached to the fat government hog. But no- I realized today I didn't get it quite right. They are even smarter then that! What they really do is install that teat into your child. Like little energizer batteries from the Matrix, so each and every one becomes their own little government hog. Satellite hogs.
They've really got it all figured out but all the while- children, all over the world are dying. Some quick, some slow. Doesn't matter though, we don't yet have a population shortage so there's always a new one to take the place of that lost teat.
And how? What is the method? Targeting of families who try to disengage. As long as you comply they leave you in your little bubble where you actually believe you are the one in control. Your choices. Your democratic voice.
But let not a demon take notice of you, that he will terrorize you all of your days. "If you can, do not let them notice you, or your life will be filled with regret. They stalk those who prey upon them, therefore, hide your good works. Only those who are quiet and modest will avoid their attention altogether." **
How is it everywhere? All over the globe? It seems it should be stopped at borders. Don't the borders mean anything anymore? In a world where only six conglomerates control all media it's really not a huge leap to consider that governments not really as sovereign as we would like to believe.
Tread lightly mother warriors.
We are left in shadows still.


   *(from "The Fight", Parks and Recreation (TV), Season 3 Episode 13 (2011))
**(Nicholas Kazan- Fallen 1998)

Posted by Victoria Meyers on Friday, April 24, 2015

Prince of Autism (an erasure poem) by Victoria Meyers (23 of 30)

The prince
in the corner of the room
among the shadows
boy
what do you want?
softly
perform a a little test
kind face
appeared suspiciously
hurt
hundreds of times
only free
the boy
glanced toward the prince who remained in the shadows
would you mind?
gesturing a moment
all you want
exactly all you have
still unsure of what was to come

Earth Day (an erasure poem) by Victoria Meyers (22 of 30)

Hands around
slow riser
thermometer
sick medicine
sick medicine
knocking
thunder
contagious
dead
big day
kind
hold hands
peace
saving the earth

My Own Road by Victoria Meyers (21 of 30)

I am in charge of my future
My decisions shape my world
Mistakes I've made
They've changed me
And set me upon a new road
What I learn is my roadmap
My experiences are my journey's log

Stronger now, I know my mind
I'm told that's not who I should be
I know better tho, from my journey
Mistakes I've made
They've changed me
Now set upon my new road
I am the cartographer of my own world

Like a phoenix from the ashes
My feathers shine in glory
As I am now victorious
Against the chains that once bound me
Mistakes I've made
They've changed me
Changed my mind
Am set upon this new road
And only I will chart its path

Sick and Tired by Victoria meyers (20 of 30)

Sick of the argument and
Sick of the crime
Tired of the abuse and
Tired of the grime

There seems to be no way
To escape this world of pain
Not until the end of days
It's here yet slow to wane

There's a pain crawling under my skin
There's an ache in my joints
It's bearable when I can smile
But when I can't its a
Writhing kind of  misery

Sick and Tired, Sick and Tired
Sick
and Tired

Regret by Victoria Meyers (19 of 30)

Regret is ageless
I don't like to blame
I am accustomed to taking responsibility
For my part in my life
For the mistakes I've made
For the trouble I have courted
I do take responsibility
I made a huge mistake and I accepted you
I made allowances when you told me of your past
I put your mistakes in my own perspective
As if they were mine
How I would move forward if they were my own
I made the mistake of thinking others are like me
You are not absolved from blame
You did hurt me
Your children
You did those things in the face of love
You had everything a man could ask
Unconditional love
A second chance
A third chance
Uncountable chances
You had me, you had us
You are regret

~Regret  by Victoria Meyers

Survivor by Victoria Meyers (18 of 30)

I am a survivor
I am still alive having
Survived unthinkable things
They are so normal to me I forget
I forget how shocking they are
Sometimes
But I also know the look
That look on your face when you hear
When I open my heart and I expose myself
I tell you of my pain, my shame
I feel judged
I feel scared

I am a survivor
I have lived through darkness
I have made it through a childhood of terror
I survived the streets
I made it out of gang violence
I lived with abuse

I am a survivor
I was beaten
I have broken
I have broken
I have broken

I have experienced the pain of lies
The pain of anger
I have experienced the pain
I have watched the joy leave my childs eyes
I have known the horror of truth

I am a survivor
I have made it through to the other side
I have lifted my self out of the mud
I have raised my voice
I have made it through to the other side
I know they are still behind

I am a survivor
I am a survivor
I am a survivor

~ Survivor by Victoria Meyers

You should Write a Book by Victoria meyers (17 of 30)

You should write a book
I've heard that all my life
Start telling people how many
Places I've lived
How many stupid things I've done
All the different ways I should
Already be dead

Tell them about three abusive husbands
Raising five kids
Going back to school at 29
With five kids at home and a psycho husband
While homeschooling
And running a busy tax office

Talk about how 9/11 made me
Quit school to stay home with my kids
Describe unschooling
Cooking gluten free for picky eaters
All the many weird ways I live my life

Why would anyone want to read
About all that crap?

A Mountain of Mend's by Victoria Meyers (16 of 30)

See you and I girl
We used to be friends
To put it all back
We'd need a mountain of mend's

I can't remember now
How it all went wrong
But I'd give you a stack of nickels
If we could just write a new song

I'd let you sleep all day
If it would help you out
I'd cook all your favorite food
If you could just erase the doubts

We had so many plans
And we were having so much fun
Till you let these pretty boys in
And you went on the run

See you and I girl
We used to be friends
To put it all back
We'd need a mountain of mends

I miss your angel voice
I miss your lightning smile
If I could get them back
I'd walk a million miles

I want to go back
To when we had the plan
To pack up all we'd need
In a dolphin headed for land

'Cause I know
That together we were right
I remember there was nothing stopping us
Before all this fight

See you and I girl
We used to be friends
To put it all back we'd need a mountain of mends

The Self-Fulfilling Party Planner by Victoria Meyers (15 of 30)

I have thrown a lot of parties and get togethers of many different sizes and magnitudes throughout my life. When I was a teen in therapy this fact came out that when I throw a party; no one shows up.  So my therapist took this as a challenge. Whether to prove to me that I must be exaggerating- which admittedly depressed souls will do- or to give me a happy successful party experience to reset my counter - well... I'm not sure.

In any event he required me to plan and throw not just one but two successful parties. That was a stipulation in the assignment - YES - they were to be successful.

So with mixed emotions and some guarded fear I set about to plan the first of the two.

My guests, who were all from an enclosed circle of influence, got wind of the assignment. So as kids tend to like to be mean and against all odds  and even threat of punishment they plotted against me. All of my guests purposely refused to show up. Not only that but even my therapist forgot to come!  And yes, he had been given an invitation; hand-written and hand-delivered like all the rest.

So my life has seemed to continue to follow this path. No matter where in the world my nomadic life has led me, no matter the circle of friends of which I was a member, whenever I have summoned the courage to throw another shindig- with very few exceptions- no one shows up.

But I keep doing it. At one point in my life I even made parties my JOB. Go figure. What could have possessed me? Somehow deep down am I actually doing this to myself? Or am I still trying to utilize the therapeutic direction of my past?

My party career never took off. Self fulfilling prophecies not withstanding- I still throw parties that no one attends.

Today I attended a gathering that was thrown together in less then three days. Almost no one received any reminder to attend, much less an invitation at all. Yet there were hundreds in attendance. Family members, old friends, new friends, colleagues, business acquaintances and even dastardly teenagers. Their were spouses and guests who may never even have met the honoree at all.

How could this be? This gathering put together in less then three days for a man who felt so alone and hopeless that he had even taken his own life? The irony is not lost on my. It strikes a cold fear in my heart.
It makes me ask questions that are none of my business, but I wonder...
De he throw parties?
And if he did did he have good attendance?
Maybe he never did throw parties and didn't know how dearly he was loved.
Maybe he did but he forgot?
Maybe its normal for people to ignore you until your dead?
It's a conundrum to me.
But I wonder, will this party failure that I am haunt me even into death?

I wish that he had been able to see how much he was loved. Maybe he would still be with us.

Letter to my Little Self by Victoria Meyers (14 of 30)

Hey little girl,
I remember when you were sitting in your room at your flower table
Coloring with crayons while you sang Elvis, and Eagles and Shawn Cassidy songs
You believed you sounded just like the singers and you sang loud enough to drown them out

Hey little girl,
I remember when you used to spend hours choreographing dances and skits to go along with those same songs
When you would get the other kids to to join in and put on a show for your moms' party friends
I remember how you gave the party goers all tickets and directed them to come to come see the "show" at the designated time.
You had it all figured out and you put on three shows a night- so that no one had to miss out

Hey little girl,
Don't stop dreaming
Life will get hard, and so many, many years will go by that you will forget
You will even forget yourself and who you would have been - before - if they hadn't done all those things to you to knock you off your trajectory
So many years will go by that you will want to give up
In fact you will give up entirely three times before you get back on your path

Hey little girl,
Remember all those things that happen to you not only the good and happy things- but also the ugly nasty and a sad things too
Are the same things that will make you amazing
They will color you music and your poetry and your parenting and your love
With all the empathy that you need to touch the hearts of those who will listen

And little girl,
I'm telling you they will listen one day
And you will smile

Lost Words by Victoria Meyers (13 of 30)

Sunday morning came early
A new day to wash the tears away
I travel down pathways in my memory
Searching for song lyrics long lost
The lilt of my song haunts me
But my damaged brain keeps holding out

These old purged words that are lost to me now
Ghosts of the past in my today
I remember the times when I wrote them
Black bird flies away
To a door on the far side of the sky

Woe to you who don't take a serious view
To the art of your words today
Because tomorrow they could be gone
And believe me when I tell you
You will ache for their loss

Thoughts flit in and out as I write
My brain is a sponge that is drying
The moisture my thoughts, my words my poems, my songs
Drying out

This final repetition of a faded glory.
Falls flat as I rest my boots
While little birds and blackbirds
Both fly away and when they go
They take your heart and soul with them

Thank You Poem by Victoria Meyers (12 of 30)

To the lady who parks in the loading zone downtown (you know who you are);

It was a year ago that you parked so long in the loading zone
Even after making me move out of it for you
Shouting at me, "This is a loading zone!"
The fact that I was actually unloading heavy equipment at the time,
While you were simply parking your large red car
In the most convenient spot in front of your business
Was lost on you.
And two hours later when I asked you if you would be moving soon
So that we could re-load our equipment
It was funny to me at first that you blew up at me
When you tried to pretend that I was being unreasonable
But a couple of weeks later when you stopped me on the street to yell in my face
Because you had pissed off someone else with your antics
Who had left you a note-.
Well that was almost my last straw
I want to thank you because apparently I needed a test of my patience

Because ever since that day, whenever I see your car It takes all my strength of will Not to KEY your shiny red paint job
And funny enough now whenever I see your car,
Or another car just like yours,
Or even a car of the same make of another color
And sometimes any red car at all
I think of you

Again I have another opportunity to practice my restraint
In fact as time goes by you would think this test would finish
But I guess I really really need this test because
A week ago I nearly failed
And keyed your car when I came upon it unexpectedly in the Wal-Mart parking lot
Instead of its usual spot in the loading zone downtown
Where you still insist on illegally parking your car

But I did resist,
I will continue to resist
Jehovah, God is happy and proud of me for my restraint
And anything that makes Jehovah happy in this day and age is a miracle!
So thank you
Thank you for the miracle

~Thank You Poem by Victoria Meyers

Water Power (an erasure poem) by Victoria Meyers (11 of 30)

incredible power and absolute calm
focused as the sea
watched
towered above
the sky
water curled
powerful
massive waves
vanished
powerful churning and swirling
invincible ships were overcome
by the force of the waves
escape disappeared
away
the ocean
tidal wave
mastered water
paddling nothing

~Water Power (an erasure poem) by Victoria Meyers

Friend by Victoria Meyers (10 of 30)

Someday soon I'll be headed back
I was on my way but I lost my track
I was a little girl with a dream
Who had no one to listen to her scream
But there is a new day up ahead
And a new way to fend off the dread
I do believe that you really can go home again
Once you shake off the fear and find a friend
 Sometimes that friend is nearby
Or He might be in your sky
When your search for love is through
Then you'll find that friend in you

~Friend by Victoria Meyers

I, You, We, but HE by Victoria Meyers (9 of 30)

I live in a world full of "I"
I must be fed
I must be clothed
I must be housed
I must be entertained

It goes further because

I have a right
I have a need
I have a want

You come into play because
You should hire me
You should accept me
You should entertain me
You should grant my rights
You should fill my wants
You should understand my needs
You should listen to my voice
You should be my friend

We have needs
We have wants
We have rights
We must eat
We must be housed
We must be clothed
We should entertain each other
We should listen to each other
We should grant each other rights

But He sacrificed His life to give it all to us

He listens to us
He has granted our rights
He will fulfill our needs
He will fulfill our wants

That we will be fed
That we will be clothed
That we will be housed
That will will be entertained
 That we should live under the Law of Love

 “‘You must love Jehovah* your God with your whole heart and with your whole soul* and with your whole strength and with your whole mind’ and ‘your neighbor as yourself.’” ~Luke 10:27

~I, You, We, but HE by Victoria Meyers

For Knowing You by Victoria Meyers (8 of 30)

I still remember how it felt
 To walk into a room on your arm
As a tall woman, I always hated
That my dates were slightly short
But with you it never mattered at all
Something about you was larger than life
I always felt safe and secure on your arm
 When we entered an event together
We felt tall together, regal
People felt it too and they gazed at us
With smiles of open admiration
If we danced or laughed, they joined us
We were awesome together - in public
 No wonder it confused me to be alone
At home wondering where you were
Praying that each next set of headlights
 Would bring you home safely
The hours spent praying and crying and praying
And in the end I wish, I wish - I wish
So early on it could have ended
I could have gone on- Our kids too and we would have all been fine
But it didn't end sooner and we
Are not fine - none of us
We are all the worse for knowing you

~For Knowing You by Victoria Meyers

This Little Girl by Victoria Meyers (7 of 30)

This little girl, she had it all
This little girl, set herself up to fall
This little girl, she thinks life's hard
This little girl, wants to draw a brand new card

Who am I to tell her she's wrong?
What makes me so special?
Do I really know she's gonna throw it all away?

Oh yeah. Oh yeah, I do

Once I was this little girl, but I had nothing much
One I was this little girl, seeking a man's touch
Once I was this little girl but life didn't give me hope
Once I was this little girl till I ended up at the end of my rope

Who am I to tell her she's wrong?
What makes me so special?
Do I really know she's gonna throw it all away?

Oh yeah, I do. Oh yeah, I do

Please little girl, turn back from your ways
Please little girl, you don't have to hurt all your days
Please little girl, we all just want to see you smile
Please little girl, please little girl
I just want to see you smile

~This Little Girl by Victoria Meyers

Destination Ride by Victoria Meyers (6 of 30)

Cloudy sky
Rushing cars
Puffing down the road
Rushing to catch a bus
Remember not to step on the old used condom
Bus passes one way, just a breath too late
Cross the street
Wait for it to return
Sit in a rain puddle on the bench
Cold wet butt
Waiting waiting
On the bus now
Stinky, sticky, sweat smells
Smashed inside foggy windows
Melt
Pull the chain, ding the bell
Whoosh the stop
Relief - fresh air
Walking thru the threatened rainy mist
Destination .
Ride

~Destination Ride by Victoria Meyers

The Vine by Victoria Meyers (5 of 30)

I want to write about beautiful things
Like flowers and growing things
Let me put my pencil to paper and write a vine that grows right out of the tip
I want to watch that vine turn green and flow into heart shaped leaves
I want to watch that vine flowing freely across my paper until a tendril reaches the edge
I want to watch that tendril break free of my page and reach out into the real world
I want to watch that vine spread from my page out onto my skin and grow and multiply to cover my body up and down with tendrils and leaves and flowers like tattoos
But no, don't stop there I want to watch those vines and flowers spread and cover the chair in which I sit and down onto the floor
I can imagine how the lines will swirl and curl and form the shapes before my eyes until the floor is like the forest floor
And then the vine will spread up the walls of my room and cover the ceiling becoming sturdier and more real and full until they burst right out the window and into the air
I want to watch that beautiful vine full of purple, pink and yellow flowers and lush green leaves take over my neighborhood and fill the streets and cover the houses and parked cars with love and joy and acceptance
I want to watch that vine turn into a forest and fill the world until there is no more ugliness but only colorful spring flowers and fresh green leaves
And then maybe, just maybe my vine will touch you
And cover over your pain
And color your heart with my love

~The Vine by Victoria Meyers

Thirteen Years by Victoria Meyers (4 of 30)

I remember the day my mind cracked.
Funny because I don't remember things anymore.
But not like before when I thought I was losing it.
Not like the day you threw your wedding ring at me for the last time.
I knew it was the last time because I took that ring between my teeth and bit down till it was flat so you could never wear it again.
Not like that day, when I couldn't stand the crazy anymore, so I took your little guitar and I smashed it over the top of your wooden valet- and I kept on swinging till nothing was left of either one but splinters.
Not like that day when I wanted so much just to tell you how I feel, how I love and you answered me by coming at me with a chair raised high over my head and I ran away and jumped in my van to leave but then I saw your car there.
Before I knew it I had rammed the van into the back of your car so hard it pushed it up over the parking barrier and onto the sidewalk even with the emergency brake on.
It felt so good I backed up the van and rammed it again.
And then I backed up and rammed that damned car one more time before I left.
I made it several miles before all the water leaked out of that busted radiator when there I was left with no other choice on that freezing cold night but to call you to rescue me.
And after you put on a flat donut tire and limped out to find some air, you did come, and you even patched that radiator with a slice of soda can and super glue.
While ice formed on your hair and collar from the water dripping down in the frigid cold.
But with all that crazy that's not when my mind cracked.
Those times I was letting of some steam, but eventually I couldn't let off enough and my mind did crack.
Just like when you boil an egg too fast and long.
That was the day the two worlds I lived in collided with a sickening slushy scrunch.
When the life I didn't know I had became my new reality while the life I thought I was living suddenly disappeared.
That was the day the whispers started.
The memories of your voice whispering horrible truths to me while I slept.
I know it never happened- I guess it's a mother's guilt-over not knowing what I looked so carefully to see.
But still I remember hearing the whispers now-the whispers that you never spoke.
The words I still cannot tell.
I can't tell those words to anyone,
I don't want to tell them even to myself.
They linger there in the crack of my mind between a life lived and lost and another that was stolen from me and all of us.
Still sometimes I wonder if those whispers were real though I know they are not.
I remember not knowing and knowing and hearing and not hearing all at the same time.
I know it didn't happen.
You didn't take your demons with you when you left.
You left them here with me.
Thirteen Years - take your damned demons with you when you leave!
You've been gone thirteen years and still I want to make you leave.

~Thirteen Years by Victoria Meyers

A Funny Thought by Victoria Meyers (3 of 30)

I had a funny thought today
While I sat there in the Hall
I thought that maybe we could
All just be a family again
The friends came and introduced
Themselves one by one like I was
Some kind of stranger or newbie
They really didn't know I've been
Around here for years and years
Well have I?
They should know
I had a funny thought tonight
Sitting there at the Hall
Thinking that maybe we could
All just be a family again
I miss those times when we'd
Trail into the meeting -late
Seven uneven heads sitting in a row
We usually had to take a whole row Just for us
 I had a funny thought this evening
When I was listening to the Memorial Talk there in the Hall tonight
That I miss being a family
I miss bringing my family
I wonder where they all are
Right now

Morning Glory by Victoria Meyers (2 of 30)

Late bloomer, that's what you can call me.

Sometime, a long time ago, my stem went dormant.

My development sitter of stopped.

For a very many years my only hope was to react to what was happening to me and try to protect myself from utter destruction.

Like a flower that opens for the sun but closes up again when you touch it.

It was a slow process, with many false starts.

That's why too many like me are labeled with ugly names behind our backs by those more fortunate.

Because they can't understand that what's tried to stop me didn't win but only slowed me down.

Under the weight of adversity my figurative muscles have torn but but they have repaired and re-knit to be stronger then ever.

So now the sun shines like a morning in the spring and my petals spread open to welcome it.

~Morning Glory by Victoria Meyers 

My First April as a Poet by Victoria Meyers (1 of 30)

April is National Poetry Month and to celebrate I am taking part in the 30/30 Challenge. I will attempt to write one poem every day in April. Here is the first one... enjoy!

The day is nearly over
The date is April 1st
I just found out that it's a special Month for a poet to write A new poem each day
So I sit here and I ponder And I wonder and I write
A freeform thought
All in one breath
To see just what will happen
Just what will come out
Just what will I see
 So good or bad, here it is
Without a barrier
My number one April poem

There is a bee in my bonnet
And a secret in my heart
So here I sit to compose a sonnet
And I can't because I'm all apart