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

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

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

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