poetic

Soul Genocide

She mimicked normal,
Smiling, wine glass
Lifted pinkie; copied class,
And she remembered back,
Carefree before this jump.

Into ash and stone
Leaping downwards,
This place would never
Feel like home.

Oh, did not she
Understand her strength,
When the wind
Lifts her wings?
To get through the storms
She would forget
Her own dimension
Without hesitation.

Windblown cheeks.
Born weak and
Barely breathing.
Timelines bending,
She had jumped back
To help them
Walk forward.

How the sun will
Burn her feet
And her eyes
Red from crying,
She will die and return,
Float in and out;
Take blows so she could
One day
Reveal
What they hope to hide.

Soul genocide.

Old, decrepit shills
Behind fading veils
Holding onto strands
In their decrepit hands,
They hope to
Keep the rope noosed,
But they are dying
And she is smiling.

Generation of horror
Deserves no honor.

Beliefs created excuses
For perverted abuses.

As the clouds drift
She gazes the sky.
Change comes soon
As moon cycles
Command the tides.
She breathes quiet.

Into the dark matter die.
Take leave of Gaia.

She will vanish one day;
Become dust and ash,
Leaving behind a past
Scrawled on pages,
Telling stories of
Generations who
Perpetrated

Violence
Racism
Sexism
Abuse
Misuse
Judgment
Confinement

The truth they hope
Will continue hiding,

But trees speak loudly
Through vibrational air
And wind carries whispers
When truth is near.

No escape. No pennants.
No hope for Redemption.
They are falling matter
Slowly evaporating,
A virus of sagging skin
Wicked insides and
Accusations of sin.

Be that your heart
Stops beating
To end the weeping
As you become nothing
To nevermore arrive
Alive in existence again.

Be that your breath
Is taken in night dreams
To end the screams
Left over from their
Deviant schemes.

Be that in their death
Release the slaves,
The mind overtaken
Now re-awakened.

She spins circles
In the dirt
A line for every soul
Their apathy has hurt
And she prepares
To hunt, eyes closed.

©VennieKocsis

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For the Motherless Child

But who celebrates the
Motherless child?
Who remembers the
Grieving sibling
Whose life was missing
Love and comfort
Or the children
Riddled with the loss
Of she who bore them?

Who loves the
Worn down souls
Unable to open
Computer tops
For fear of seeing
Everyone else’s joy
As they
Sit alone.

We are conditioned with
Holidays to
Get the heart wishing,
Fake gatherings where
Children smile for mom
Quiet about the harm
Not showing the scars
Locked in robotic charm,
The alcohol bottle,
The silence, as not to
Make the cages rattle.

Every day is Mother’s Day,
For the motherless, a
Reminder shoved in their face
With flowers torn from stems,
No fond stories to tell
About childhood memories,
Just thoughts of her hell,

Or wishing she was here
To share in the recall
Of the kids who had it all,
But lost her slowly
Until all that’s left
Is a headstone
And lonely.

And so I lift my eyes
To the motherless child;
Open my arms
Let me hold you a while.
Together, see, I understand.
I know the pain.

We will walk in the trees and
I’ll softly wipe any tears;
Hold you to my chest to
Let you seep out the loneliness.

You don’t have to be happy
If it’s not how you feel.
You have the right
To be vulnerable and real.

To you, motherless child, I
I sent respite. So
Rest a while and
If you find strength to smile
I will return it with twinkling eyes.

V.K

art by Vennie Kocsis with influence from Jill Greenberg’s crying children series.

Alone At Sea

What wistful ways
Lovers dance
Eyes intense
Falling into trance
Bent like trees
Branches extended
Their adoration
Never ending

What an invisible life
Hovering slightly above
Glancing below
I never thought I’d
Wince at humans
Holding hands with
Such bonded elegance

She searched the earth
In caves resting
In more caves her
Hands empty
Holding dust
And aloneness

The human aches
I wish I could soothe her
Become form
Hold her close so she
Can feel chosen
Just once but
She is destined
For solitude and
Strangers wandering
In and out as though
Her heart is a brick door

Young she will escape
Finish this cycle soon
Return home where her
Legs don’t ache
From running and her
Ears won’t ring
From screaming where
Her breath becomes
A blanket wrapped tight
So she can sleep.

Now we float
Between these worlds
We see through;
Beyond and between
Beneath and inside
Smiles and tears
We cry and

Who can take
Into their hands
Such fragile existence
As ours
Who can be so worthy
Of this synergy
Spun, we rung the bells
Vibrational wind spells

Not all that exists
Is intended
Some is pretended
And this circle of
Light’s pure amethyst
Serves and protects us

What immortal ways
Lovers recycle each other
Like magnets we cannot
Avoid the passings
Broken rafts afloat a sea
Leaving mystery to
Be discovered
By another

©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

Discussion Encouraged

You can give a
Million pieces of your heart.
You can listen and support,
Share openly; be told
“Discussion encouraged”,
But nothing insures loyalty.

Today, I learned that
For the final time.

Rarely do people’s actions
Match their words.
There will be no more
Newness walking in this door.
My wariness grows stronger.

I will ever remain the watcher,

v.k

Born Crazy: A Video Poem

You’re crazy.”

How often have you heard this phrase thrown around, either flippantly, in jest or to victim blame someone who has overcome or is recovering from abuse?

I heard this often as a post-cult teenager and well into my adult years. While I was actually dealing with the behavioral aftermath of being an extremely abused child, instead of receiving support, caring and nurturing I was told that I was crazy. When a child is told enough times that they’re mind is insane, we begin to believe it.

This poetry piece is from my spoken word album, Dusted Shelves, which is available on Amazon in paperback and c.d. Written in 2013, it is a representation of a life by which I was conditioned to believe that I was crazy.

Some abuse survivor work is considered to be dark and oddly psychotic. This piece would fall under that theme.

**Trigger Warning for those who are sensitive to these themes**

Born Crazy

Soul of an Angel

“Soul of an Angel” was written in 2009 and just recorded yesterday as I made this video. It is a representation of the connection between abused little girls and the abuse they often continue to endure in adulthood. Little girls are our earth angels, and there is no penance for the level of evil of those who defile their beautiful existence.