Social games

Puzzle me sweetly

I'm searching for the key

Lonely furrows are the seams of my brow

Puzzle me neatly 

The truth hidden in a smile

Ghost of a Whisper

I put a picture in my mind,
the one I loved so, you by the window blind.
When I see it I try to remember that that beautiful smile and love in your eyes was never mine,
not mine.
It was her -you were looking at, not me,
not ME.
Another picture.
It's you and her standing before the forest in the snow.
Look closely, your arms holding her tenderly, and I remember that your arms never held me,
no not me.
Those pictures are in my mind now.
I am trying to hold on to them and keep them in front of me now.
I tell myself that you are there in your flat with her, not me, not with me.
Do you understand?...

I will never hurt you...
When you came back that night to ask me not to hurt her,
I knew then that you don't know me,
not me.
This is my farewell, my last love letter to you.
I know you won't read it, and I'm glad
'Cause I don't ever want to feel that I have betrayed you.  (Like her)
Of course you don't know me, we're only strangers who met by chance.
I'll go back to my life.
I won't wake from dreams of you in the mornings, hoping to see your face.
I won't sit for hours, hoping for a glimpse of you.
I won't wear my purple sweater, just to hear you ask me- I hate that sweater!
I will not linger over your memory, or think of you in the shower.
I will not imagine your arms around me as I sleep.
I will not hope for you, I will not,
not me.

You will become as a ghost to me,
a whisper of a dream I never had.

Do you understand?.....

Just a whisper of a dream I never had
A ghost of a whisper of a dream I never had

Own it

Stand in front of a mirror
Look at your face
Look at your body
Realize that body has endured
That face has seen it all

Look into your eyes
What do you see there?
There is sadness, yes
But there is more
Kindness, compassion...

You see wisdom and also pain
You see love
Touch that scar you see there
Run your finger over it
Remember how it got there

Your body has seen you through
Even when you abused it
When you let it go and ignored it
You treated it as if it was at fault
It's your body so own it

Your body is there for you always
It deserves your respect
You won't get another
Look into the mirror and say
I love you

You earned it.

~Victoria Stewart Meyers

This Isn't About Me

Today I was a witness to domestic violence
On my college campus
As I trudged up the hill to get a quick bite
After a tough class and before my next

When suddenly there was a shout and a bang, and a screech of tires
I tried to see into the car but the sun was in my eyes
And the cold weather had everyone buttoned up tight
In sweaters and jackets and hats                                                                            
I couldn't get a look at the guy
I did see the grim look of fear and embarrassment
In the eyes of the girl
As she bravely set her jaw and stood her ground under his threatening
Intimidation
His body actually arced over top of hers in the driver’s seat
As if he intended to climb right out the window over top of her
His clenched fist under her chin

Just as suddenly he jumped out of the passenger door
The door on my side 
As I stood and watched I tried to make eye contact with her
I could see her pretty brown hair
Her eyes were already brimming with the tears
She would try but would not be able to hold them back
Even as she drove away
Safe for now
She averted her gaze from me and I knew why

I thought to try again to see the guy
He was already pretty far away
I wanted to follow him, chase him down
I wanted to look him in his eyes and let him know that
I - will- take- him – on

But he was already halfway up the hill
I knew better and now they both were gone
I never even got a look at his face

All that was left was me
Standing in the cold sunshine
Of a now darkened day
Shaking in rage and helplessness
In hopelessness
Wishing I could chase down that girl
Wishing I could chase down that guy
Knowing I couldn't do either one

As I finally turned to walk to the student center
A tear slipped down my cheek
In frustration and mourning
The sidewalk filled with students again
Walking toward me and past
And as I looked into each one’s eyes
I saw no glimmer of recognition
Of what had taken place here today
And my heart broke

But this is not about me

No Mistakes (Revised)

NO MISTAKES


How many mistakes can you make?
Can you make everything go wrong?
The pretty yellow black-eyed susans
Should have warned me from the beginning
I thought I had taken the lemons given me and made lemonade
On the tail end of the breakdown
I was coming out on the other side and would be victorious.....
That's what I thought - I think I remember it that way

How many mistakes can you make?
Can you make everything go wrong?
We moved into that trailer in triumph
The kitchen had been ripped out and paint stained the carpet
But the paint was fresh and the carpet was new
There were yellow flowers all around in the field
And the edge of the woods where we moved it
The walls were white and a dryer lay
On its side in the laundry room- it worked
At first the friends were helpful -  they came and things got fixed
And it was going to get better
I should have known better then to get hopeful

How cold can you get?
How many things can go wrong?
The fall was winding down and the winter would come
The dealer told me 100 gallons of propane would last the winter
Could anyone predict that the tank would be empty in only a month?
We had never lived that way before
Without heat, in a tin can in the middle of a barren field
We didn't know how. We made mistakes. I made mistakes


Three of us shivering under a mountain of blankets
The cat and the dog put away their differences for a place in the bed
I'm not sure how we made it through - I messed that up pretty good
It was so cold and I did it all wrong
But we made it through to the other side of that winter
And we were OK - and things looked like they would get better

How hot can you get?
How many things can go wrong?
As the spring faded  my hope died in the blistering heat
in the middle of a barren field
They cut down all the forest and left just ruts in the mud
I had made a plan - I bought the land,  I did the work
I didn't know how many mistakes - I could make again

How hot can you get? Can you make everything go wrong?
To get money to move the trailer,  I sold the car
It didn't matter, I said because we'd be in town
That's what I thought
He said 6 weeks.... but then he said 6 more
I couldn't make it that far and the money got spent

Spent on living and we just got stuck
The only thing that saved us that summer was the water
Thank god there was a well
We could live under the stream of spray of the cold clear water
And the friends sneered and looked at our tans
And said we looked like we had a great summer

How lost can you get?
How many things can go wrong?
The summer finished and the fall came and someone made the call
The electricity on again and the social workers finally came
I didn't have to to tell them - I didn't have to ask for help!
They turned to leave but I needed help, wanted help
I asked for help from snakes who smile and hiss and slither

How lost can you get?
Can you make everything go wrong?
They told me they would help - sent workers to help
And the friends dropped us off at night in the dark
We all worked together and that's how it seemed at first - like help
I trusted and I prayed - I smiled and the kids played
And the air got colder but I got smarter

We had a heater this time, kerosene
Light to read by in the cozy evenings
We could make a meal and heat a room. But I didn't have a car
And we were stuck there in that damned bare field
With no way to escape and no help
When the snakes came and stole my kids

How many mistakes can you make?
How many things can go wrong?
As you wait and pray and follow the rules
And the friends won't stand up for you in court
I fought and played their games
I slept on strangers couches to make it
And I watched the light fade from my babies eyes

How many mistakes can you make?
Can you make everything go wrong?
As the last of my health was fading away
I did find one last push - the strength tell a good lie - and won
I played their game and I threw away a dream and a future to win
But I got played and I lost my trailer, my land and my health
My kids came home and the light was gone from their eyes

Dolphin Dream

There's a little place I'd like to go
Hippy Joe's Coffee
It's run by this sweet lady who never got it right before
But she can cook and she can make a mean cup o joe
There's bandanas on the curtain rods
The tea glasses are mason jars
And light shines in the window
And lights up the gleaming floors
When its cold they gather round the wood stove
For coffee and tea that's always ready to go

There's painting on the walls
Done by a troubled young man
Alien landscapes and anamorphic selfies
Sometimes they sell a few to make the rent
Shelves on the walls with art on consignment
And a girl in the corner
On a homemade soundstage
She has a guitar and a gleam in her eye
Her voice is loud and clear and true
And when she sings there is not a dry eye in the place

And one day I'll drive away
In my Dolphin built for two
To a shore not so far
With a beach for me and you
And one day I'll drive away
In my Dolphin built for two
To a shore not so far
With a beach for me and you

And the waves will crash and the sky will spit
And the dolphins will play in the surf  as we sit
We'll stare off into the horizon
Till the sun sets down
 The we'll head on back to Hippy Joe's
And friendship and love will meet us there

Nobody has to be cool all the time.

Nobody has to be cool all the time.
Nobody has to be cool all the time, right?

I was dreaming when I wrote down this poem
I thought about the past and the fear
I thought about the pain and finality
I remembered the good times too
And the words did finally come

I remember that night when you took me dancing.
You drank too much and tried to act cool.
Hopped on your bike and fell down the hill.
You just laid there and I giggled.
Nobody has to be cool all the time.

I remember that time you threw me from a moving car.
But first you tried to break my neck.
I kicked and fought and managed to get the door open.
I just laid there and you stood over me.
Nobody was cool that time.

I was dreaming when I saw you walking down the street
With a whistle on your lips and the sun in your hair
And I believed you were beautiful and noble.
I offered you a ride and you were enjoying your walk so much
You declined and I thought that was wonderful.

I watched you in my rearview as I drove away.

I was wide awake when you drove away that day
I laid in the ditch in the mud and fall leaves
The sun still shining and a crisp bite in the air
It was a beautiful day to die
But I was not dead, I was still there

Day after day when I opened my eyes to find that
Goddamn it I'm still ALIVE
The pain won't stop and I just keep breathing.
Your hands around my throat
Hold your breath...


I was dreaming when I wrote down this poem
I thought about the past and the fear
I thought about the pain and finality
I remembered the good times too
And the words did finally come

Nobody has to be cool all the time.
Nobody has to be cool all the time, right?


Slam Poem

Giant Windows

When I think of you
It's always in a sun soaked
living room
with giant windows and
whitewashed walls
we're laughing and shouting
because we're working on a new song
We never had a living room like that
But we have written songs
Just like that
I think its my hope for the future
That I'm thinking of when I imagine that room
But I don't care if we live in a cave
If you'd just write with me again

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

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

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

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

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?