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Best Poems Written by Allison Kinzy

Below are the all-time best Allison Kinzy poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Allison Kinzy Poem

. and Then,

there are times 
when my heart
remains silent
when its pulse is
steady and slow
there are times
when i am
right with the world
fitting in like a piece
to an irregular puzzle
there are times 
when the sounds
of the life that surrounds me
blend in infinite splendor
with the music that plays
within.

and then,

there are times
when my heart explodes
and its rapid beating
becomes too much
for the confines of my chest 
there are times
when i seem to be
a square block 
struggling to escape
this round hole
of an existance
there are times
when the cacophonous symphony
invading my mind
overlaps with what
i hear outside
and the resulting noise
is disarmingly similar
to my inner chaos.

and then,

there are times
when i wonder
when this
nauseating see-saw
will stop its
strange rhythm
when the boundaries
that dictate
the shape of my life
will stop their 
shape-shifting
when i can be left 
in peace.

and then,

each time
this wondering arrives
it is followed by a certainty
that the answer is

never.

Details | Allison Kinzy Poem

.alone.

you. are not. alone.
with cavernous ceilings closing in,
the impression of depression driving in the direction
of some unreachable goal of controlled insanity
– because always in control are you –
you harp on your uniqueness, your originality,
when in fact you are one of a many,
one of a group,
something you try so hard to deny
as the blood starts staining your hands
and drip, drops on this hallowed ground.
through the watery haze of your righteous tears
your gaze fails to fall on the footprints
of another and another, walking the floor,
their lifeblood draining just as yours.
all around you they sway, scepters
of tragedies pushed away and forgotten,
long forgotten,
as you blindly flail and try not to fall
off this lonely cliff of Last Resort where
you. are not. alone.
you search and you seek 
empathy, apathy, sympathy, any “-pathy”
to ease the pain of these lost, forgotten days,
and yet you miss these hands reaching out
wanting to hold you miss these words
said only to console you miss these eyes
meant to draw you in
and all you see in those eyes is a reflection
of something you’ve tried to deny
and you continue to balance
walking the  lines of chaos, trying not to spin
out, of, control
– because always in control are you –
you try to survive on the bread and bones
 of those come before, but blind you are
to the nature of your food, blind you are
to this world you stumble through
and blame endlessly, releasing you
from the responsibility you are being punished for, and
you. are not. alone.
so dive of your platform of solitary fears
dive into this river of comfortable tears
swim alongside these ghosts of years and years
of tragedies so like yours
let them carry you away from this
cliff of Last Resort and know that
you. are not. alone.

Details | Allison Kinzy Poem

Needlepoint

love sits
in that frozen phonograph of life
a broken record
playing the same bit of song
over and over and over
not knowing when to stop
not knowing when to start
it’s a hard feeling
on this record player
that always skips our song.

i waited and waited
for you to come out of your shell
and when you didn’t
i called the nutcracker
but that little wooden man
just didn’t show up
so i tried to do it myself.

i’ve always said i have no muscles
so you’re stuck.
i’ve jammed the catch to your little box
lined with foil
and you’re locked inside
locked away from me
indefinitely.

maybe in time
the locksmith will come ‘round
or maybe in time
you’ll run out of supplies
and force your own self out
but until that maybe-time
i’ll move on
and try to find another song
that the needle doesn’t skip and jump
that doesn’t have a scratch in it
like ours does.

only one man can fix it, you know,
and he’s stuck in a shell
lined with foil
with a jammed lock
too scared to break out
and i won’t wait anymore.

Details | Allison Kinzy Poem

Unintelligible Communication - Who/What/Where/When/Why/How?

How can you say the things
that make me want to scream?
How can you hear the words
that make me want to cry?

Why does my life
feel like a constant cliche
and why are you
content to care
about a creature who cares
about nothing at all?

i said i had lost my priorities
but i know i just finally
realized what they are:
"wallowing in self-imposed misery"
ranks first
and manipulation
and selfishness
come in a close second and third
if there is much difference
between them at all.

Can you tell
that i'm out of words?
all i can do
is scream and cry
sigh at life's inevitability
about the mess that is me
and i wish sometimes
that i could let go
float on the flow
of my tears and waters
that teem with my screams
swim
and actually get somewhere.

i try to return to the past
but my creative juices
have fled
watered down by time
and repetitive experiences
and this is new
but not so much so 
that there's anything more
to say
that hasn't already
been said.
i've related to you
the over-used lines
i seem to spill at these times
don't be surprised if
i am reduced
to repeating 4 words:
"what do i do?"
'cause that's all it comes down to.

i write because
it feels like something accurate
-- and that still effects deeply and intensely --
might come out
the next time
or the next time
when really
i read over my old poems
and realize
i've exhausted my supplies
of deep, intense effective poems
and all that's left
is just chicken scratch.

i
don't want to
am not able to
write anything more
all i can do
is lay my head
on the naked pillow
and hope that i won't rise
or if i do
i won't be me.

i can write the words
that make me want to cry
i can write the things
that make me want to scream
but how you can say and hear
i'll never know
'cause i've gone
far beyond the realm
where that is
a plausible
possible
option
but here i can retreat to 
and "fire at will
from behind my hideout
of faux-i-don't-care".
and as i write
i realize that that is the one thing
i can say
that is utterly true
because i am
sorry
and there's nothing i can do
to change that.

Details | Allison Kinzy Poem

One More Night, One Less Day

i stare at the screen
and hope my thoughts make sense in words
there's always some coherence in these poems
if only i could find it.

something seems to be missing from my picture
there's a smile
and eyes with laughter
and life in it
but i don't think
no, i'm sure
i'm not there.
and in this apartment
there are pets
there are clothes
there are belongings
and living bodies who spend their nights here
there is even love
but i don't think
no, i'm sure
i'm not here.

there's got to be
something that i can photoshop in
or buy at ikea
to make me suddenly appear
and the books that i read instead
of appearing
fill my head with magic
while i try desperately
to avoid reality.

and i don't sleep until
it's not night anymore
but i wake up
with things undone
and though 12 beings surround me
filled with love of different degrees
i stay undone

and nothing makes sense anymore
i don't know why i continue to write
only that i do
and hope that something that comes spilling
through this net
will accurately capture
what i cannot seem to express
in words that do not have the
poetic-air
to them

if i could do something right
something with no consequences
that might destroy me
but something right
i might feel real happiness again
but now
all there is is an echoing emptiness
through which bounces the fake smiles
and plastic laughs
that are what they see

and i wish i didn't sleep at all
or never woke up
but as it is
this is one more night
that will end in my tears
and it is one less day
where the sunlight can blind me
to the truth
of who i am

"i forget
how much i can hurt"
i said to him as he held me
as i shook with sobs
"is it okay to hold you?"
he asked before
"yeah,"
i responded in between gasps,
"when you hold me i don't have to be strong
i have to be strong when i cry alone"

so shall i spin you a tale
of a life wasted
or is it wasting away?
or shall i just imbue my tears
with words
and hope when they fall
they will mix in the right combination
to say more than i can ever say here?

i stare at the screen
and hope my thoughts make sense in words
there's always some coherence in these poems
if only i could find it

but i can't find it
and so this goes out
sans spell check
because i know there are no
spelling errors
just errors in sense

this is me
in the moment
raw
no trying to be pretty
just out here
hoping someone will hear
me and know what i'm trying to say

do you?
know?
what i'm trying?
to say?

'cause i don't.

Details | Allison Kinzy Poem

Existence Meaningless

this existence is meaningless
i don’t understand
i don’t understand
why me? 
the cliché echoes in empty air
but is amplified in my soul
as no other question
holds such validity
as this.

this existence is meaningless
i am out of control
the tears that seem to be perpetually
running down my cheeks
i don’t even feel their dampness
on my skin
they just reabsorb and recycle
back into more tears
a loop never-ending
and vicious
giving no relief from the constriction
in my throat and chest
not even to breathe

this existence is meaningless
and this small apartment
seems to close in around me
compressing my thoughts
into a ball
hardly recognizable, hardly coherent
except a call of help
except a scream of pain
to which there is no answer
except resounding silence.

this existence is meaningless
i lose my grip on reality
as the world falls away
and all i can see is the people
the hot burning gas of stars
burning brightly
brightly laughing at me
as i spin quickly
into oblivion.

this existence is meaningless
“I sword to God that I’d never be
What I’ve become”
and yet my faith
as if i had any to begin with
has faded in the background
of my life
i cannot tell anymore
between happiness
and sadness
they say you need one
to have the other
but they both feel the same to me now.

this existence is meaningless
“Nobody’s home
Broken inside”
i hear words sung
and hear thoughts mimicked
or recognize their repetition
in everything i see
what comes through my senses
is filtered through the lens
my mind puts up
drunk and staggering
on toxic tears.

this existence is meaningless
i am held
but feel not the arms around me
i am immune to the love rained down on me
it rolls off
discarded in a pool at my feet
and my wall to the outside
is not permeable
i can see out
but no one can see in
and nothing
comes through
to effect or change
the bitter turn my heart has taken
i am walking now
on a path that moves underneath me
so that i go nowhere
even if i run
the only place i reach
is the ground
as i collapse from exhaustion.

this existence is meaningless
and no matter how hard i try
to find a point
this life i lead
doesn’t lend itself
to questioning
and so stays mute
while i am left with a sinking feeling
that things will never change.

Details | Allison Kinzy Poem

So This Is...

eyes hurt
but cant stop moving
clicking fingers
send letters sprawling across
too-bright screen
knew it would be like this
tonight
nothing to do
but wish someone was here
to be awake with me
in three hours
it will be a full day without sleep
sleep
sleep
dont need sleep
and conversations had
at 5 o'clock in the morning
only end in the tears
i've been trying to keep back
for the past 2 hours
and hurtful words
start to pull me
into their riptide
as the sun gets
farther from setting
closer to rising
never see this coming
happiness vanishes in an instant
and loneliness creeps in
to fill the cracks
between the shattered
panes of my glass heart
and this poem is
my mind now
at its most sparse and blunt
also lyrical and melodramatic
fragmented, slightly askew
and lyrics from a childhood
never lived
come to haunt
in this drawn-out witching hour
"(night lights the room)
day comes to break
(my eyes fight the moon)
too much at stake
(too dark/bright to consume)
and i find out too soon
i'm still awake"
i
want
sleep
but fear fills
at the thought
of closing eyes
and surrendering consciousness
don't want there to be a next day
so this one won't end
i'll activate
and reactivate
memory-inducing tendencies
while words across room grow blurry
and i stop caring about discomfort
want to call
but afraid
i'll feel the worse for waking
he who can sleep
and sleep soundly
and i don't know what i'd say
if i called
anyway
this is my head
i have no more inside
while what is inside
has no way to get out
headaches do not help
insomnia.

Details | Allison Kinzy Poem

Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

i sit here
with all these words
at my command
and try to find the mix 
that will paint the clearest picture
of what i feel today
but as i sit here
phrases swirling into line
to be crossed off the list
one by one
each rejected
by my mind
as too precise
or too confusing
just not good enough
i listen to the message
my heart is sending out
there are no words
there is no way
for me to let you see
just how i feel today
maybe there has never been
and all my tries have been in vain
but whether or not that is true
i've come to realize
that there is nothing more to say
i'm wracking my brains
trying to  find some new, fresh, unique way
to say what's been said before
but i am nothing but a broken key
pressed down and punching out
the same letter:
iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii
for that is all i see in these
works i have spread
in the hopes that someone will tell me something
i don't already know
it is all about me
and while life is ever
only about the self
i get tired of being
so in my head
but as my head
is so in me
there doesn't seem a way around it
so iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii
will keep writing these poems
while trying to ignore
how pointless they really are.

Details | Allison Kinzy Poem

Tired

i
am
TIRED
of writing all these
sweet, sappy, lovesick poems
all these exultations in my
tear-stained, lonely, cry-for-me-please days
these fall-on-my-knees days
when everything
is a "different shade of gray".
i
can't
BEAR
anymore of my 
whining complaints
of this "life barely worth living"
of these people who aren't giving
me nearly enough affection.
i will throw down my pen
i will rip up these pages
but, please, god,
don't let me write down one more
metaphorical, symbolical
pathetic-ass verse
about the over-played and under-stated
"bane of my existence".
if i go on one more rant about
some guy who wronged me
in some terrible way
and can i get a little sympathy
and oh dear, look, my feelings run so deep
or how i can't solve the
myriad of my own problems
but here, let me offer you some 
hypocritical bull
to soothe your fears,
i
will
SCREAM!
Because writing sappy, lovesick poems
doesn't get me any closer to getting laid
all those whining complaints
only drive more people away
metaphors and symbols
are never interpreted the same
and "ranting" skips alongside "raving"
on the road of "mad"
to a sterile, white cell.
i'll put down all my words, you see, because
i
am
TIRED
of writing about me.

Details | Allison Kinzy Poem

If I Die Tomorrow, Would This Song Live On Forever?

even angels are silent
in this lonely room
where i cannot sit
though chairs dangle
around me
so i perch
as lyrics run roughshod
through my head
and my face to the world
is right behind
my eyes
waiting to take its place
should anyone walk
through that door
sickness grows
insidious by nature
and tonight i lose
the ability to see
through what were
already-blurred eyes
now i am sitting in
the quite-literal dark
lit only by a light
removable and douseable
with a quick flip
of a switch
so twice blind
are my eyes
and twice mute
is my voice
as my teeth are stuck
together in a perpetual smile
and as my mouth
makes sounds and words
i was not prepared
to make
or maybe i was too prepared
to make
laughter sounds behind me
and i hear the chattering
of people not weighed down
by memories of a life
long past
but short forgotten
because after a time
those pictures of a world
i thought had died
come back
they always
come back
and i wish i was not
so heavy
for these thoughts of deeds
i dare not utter
and cannot to those
chattering fools at my back
stay at the bottom of my heart
and sink me down
into the suffocating sands
i unsteadily walk on
and the lyric we mock
is sadly true
"if i was invisible..."
because i am
or my real self
anyway
but on the surface
i smile
and go about my business
and try not to break into
the million pieces i am made of
that are slowly
shaking apart.