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

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....

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

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.

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