poetess

Shards

Shards

And in the end
All she wanted
Was her own piece
Of heaven
Where her chest didn’t feel heavy
Where smiles felt real
And she could be free
Away from the ache left
From picking up shards
Of her beautiful heart

Vennie Kocsis is the best-selling author of CULT CHILD, and hostess of Survivor Voices radio show every Sunday at Freedom Slips.

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VennieKocsis.com

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stream of consciousness 9.18

“The Consciousness of Being Human: Self Portrait” by Vennie Kocsis

I never / consented to this / to be a / part of parts / never asked / for the / broken hearts / the laden road / of being human / I am consuming / energy for air / ripping in half / to leave the / density here / to arrive there / so much to / leave behind / misunderstanding / mistrust / the degeneration / of being human / flat the feel / change the emotion / like ocean waves / this realm will / disengage and / the rage becomes / the sum of the numb / too sequestered / to remember / so they die / fire by fire by fire / and some / we love / memories become / teardrops / and scars / run my fingertip / over the / raised bars / hearing music / there is / no other way / injected through earth / plastic cups which / held my birth / death returns / when it / burns and burns and burns / regrowth the flowers / skin ashen / from flames / renamed and / reclaimed / shine the laughter / in aftermath / sees deeper than seas / trickery / treachery / manipulation / lower dimension / in fifth / long for seven / homeward bound / all your theories / are overthinking / flat or round / beginning or end / real or pretend / free or fenced / cages and rages / self created invasions / float away / against the seam / this is / a nightmare / not a dream / if they can’t / hear the / screams and wails / of innocent souls / this is / no place to / call home / I never / said yes / I’ll be the test / for traumas and / altered DNA / it was never / okay / when their / experiments / get to / intelligent / and layers / become invisible / they march in pairs / watching / from distances / invisibly obvious / mundane / this life / ordinary and / strained / drained by leeches / disguised as / preachers / politicians / the mouthpiece / of the wicked / people / so feeble / co-dependent slaves / cave easily / cracking brittle / can’t learn / from trees to / flow and release / shoot the moon / stage the craft / going back / through time portals / I told you / I am immortal / when this skin / becomes hollow / will I / remember / the aches / of this life / will I / look back / to understand why / floating in / the respite I / daydream of / colored plasma / encased / sleeping / m7

Deeper Seas

Art: “From a World Inside This One” by Vennie Kocsis

Deeper Seas

Emerged naked
Skin renewed from
Oil and water;
Lungs stronger
From the disaster.

You see, after
The ticking clock stops
And the heart
Is the only beat
Left to keep the rhythm
You place your hand
On your chest to
Count the breaths.

I’m alive and
It’s so quiet.

Inside the darkness
Of my closed lids
Becomes the ebbing
Vanishing of the dimness
And I am Witness
To the return.

Back to the dimension
I have leapt
Into the silence of
My home and it
Became apparent
I could be present

Simultaneously
Separately
Same space
Same spirit

I have become
Accustomed to
The denseness
No longer defensive
Or controlling and desperate

I am flying above cages
Where I have disengaged
The rage into peace;
So much calmer
Just be and so I
Scan the world
With accuracy

Heightened senses
Deeper seas

I am a castle
Solitary stone
Formed and intricate
Floating above the fog
Candles light my
Cold hallways as I
Speak to the colors
Rainbow Mother

This is where
Acceptance meets
It’s own face and
I have become

Light and War
Seeker and Seer
Otherkin and Friend
Lover and Sky Whispers

Vennie Kocsis is s cult child abuse and cult survivor, author and radio host of Survivor Voices Show.

The Tightest Bud

Sometimes, you awaken,

To accept that a human

Will never choose you;

That no matter how much

You love; how much you

Give your open heart;

Growing and changing,

Some humans will

Always categorize you

Into a space that will

Never change or fit

Into their life… not fully.

You are not the one

They call when

Their heart hurts

Or because they

Miss your voice.

You are not their

First choice in

The moments that

Matter most.

Sometimes acceptance

Settles in and

You cry after

Saying goodbye because

You realize that truth

Has stared you

Straight in the eyes;

That you will always be

The friend, the occasional

Twist and bend, yet

Still you hope, open

Like a flower then

Close back into

The tightest bud,

Because words ring

Loud and you

Sit in the wake of

Your own mistakes;

Never trusted

Even as you gave

All of yours in

The most intimate ways.

So, the minutes,

They crumble like stone

As you find that home

Can be only in yourself;

That this world is not

For the Otherkin

To be coupled with Humans.

And in the end

The Hybrid finds aloneness

To be their Earth’s purpose,

And this existence

Becomes more

Of a struggle,

Sifting through the rubble

Of human energy remains.

Vennie Kocsis is the best-selling author of CULT CHILD and radio host of SURVIVOR VOICES SHOW

You Used To Be My Muse

There was once a time when I sent you love letters, and you smiled.  You were far away, always, in either spacial distances or miles, even when you were right beside me.   There were days when you thirsted for my words as if they were the last drop of liquid you’d ever drink again.  They would fill your lonely nights with hopes of better ones.  We never thought ourselves to be good enough, even inside of our inflated senses of ego, the mask that we thought let everyone know we were whole.

You’ve sunk into silence in these days, so many years later, as though your feelings were shred into so many pieces, they melted into the linings of your heart and hardened.   How does one make the decision to re-shape what has been formed into stone over so many years of fire if not to re-melt and re-form into what was the beginning of your existence, stars and floating sky.

I am at peace with being.  Where once I scorned myself, I no longer ingest the disinterest; the passive absence of spirit, held behind a wall of secrecy that cannot be infiltrated.   As I quietly observe the movement of this drift, I understand it, more deeply then I’ve ever seen into our ethereal strings before.   I used to cry from trying, defeated and wondering.  Now, I smile in knowing, because I will continue to float on this solitary raft, happily soaking in stars and overhanging leaves; joyful to be me loving me.   Whether I am loved by others is no longer a need.  Someone’s choice to give love is theirs to own.    I’ve learned to love myself enough to replace infinite lovers.

You used to be my muse as I was yours. You used to write poetry and touch the center of yourself; scribe beautiful rhymes that read as coded messages.   Now, there are robotic movements and steps backwards, unresponsive communications where not even silence holds whispers.

For me, every moment has become a muse.  Each tree leaf that softly dances in the breeze and every human face glancing at me gets read in seconds.  Inside those fleeting moments, I grasp language, expression and understanding of situations that don’t belong to me.   It is from there my fingers begin to speak, leaking out emotions that stir the swirling universes beneath my rib cage.

Here, I sit alone with myself, but I am no longer lonely.

The Gathering

(written in 2009)

We are the quiet, the hidden
The purposely unnoticed,
The only speak of it to each other
Write it, paint it, sing it…
But not to the masses.

They are unfocused, organized
Religious zealots, diabolical replicas,
Rendered children of Zion,
Angered by the unknown, the
Misunderstood reasons for not
Being willing to understand
Or accept what is inevitable

So they

Wish to kill us, do you?
Wish to rip our hearts from our
Chest, hold them in your hands
As if you have triumphed over our
Spirits, brought yourself redemption
By judging (not) lest ye be judged,
Oh yes, I can quote your scripture,
Talk about your rapture, how you
Crucified your so called Christ;
Made your God weep; all so you
Could keep some kind of purity.

We will gather, make no mistake,
You with your held out crosses,
Your thumping black books spewing
Scriptures that choke out truth,
But we are patient, compassionate
To our fellow man, mistaken for weak
Until our rage breaks and seeps.

We are the Mystics, the witch’s brew,
The keeper of your thoughts, holders of
The knowing. We are the Old World tenderly
Tossed with the New, a salad of
Scrolls garnished with wisdom
And dressed with apparitions
That you call ghosts. We are here
To awaken your spirit should you
Choose to allow your ears to hear it.

There is a fire sparking, somewhere in
The mountains. I see them dancing,
Eyes wild with energy, hands raised,
Feet in rhythm with their own time,
And I smile at the divinity
As they find absolution
In the composition of the wind.

V/K
©venniekocsis.com

Some Day I Want to Walk In

Some day I want to walk in
And there you sit
Candles lit
Silence

Some day I want to walk in
To the smell of your cooking;
Turn my head to
Catch you looking
Gazing
Amazing

Some day I want to walk in
Strip to nothing
Spend hours in your sin
Breathing
Being

Who are you?
Where do you hide?
I have searched,
Allowed strangers inside
Broken
Hoping

Some day I want to walk in
And it be you
No longer invisible
Tangible form
Reborn

I don’t want to be
Torn anymore
Tears have me dehydrated
My love heavy
Heady
Hazy

Some day I want to walk in
To peace and know
For the first time
What it’s like
To be both Queen and Daughter
Loved by my King and Father

Some day…

Vennie Kocsis