
Author
Poet
Screenwriter
Hoodlum
Breeze Vincinz
BREEZE LOVE SOUL
CONGLOMERATE
© Breeze Vincinz
Who doesn’t love me
Who knows who I am
Mr. East Coast Lonely Hearts
Mr. Just Feel This on Instagram
Mrs. “I will call you dickless
and cry when you say bitch”
Mr. Delusional refuses to scratch
with his consistent itch
There are clothes and newspaper
dirty dishes filled with water
dried remnants of a roach
smeared to warn it’s brother
Another conglomerate on Hollywood/Highland
Another conglomerate on Santa Monica/La Brea
And me with my enemies and roaches
I wonder if I died who would even care
Then sometimes I have a good hair day
Sometimes there’s money in my account
I can get the gunk off my George Foreman
I’m not saddened at what LA is about
Or bitch about it’s reindeer games
Won’t be a disgruntled “came here” name
Won’t judge those pain/fear babes
Who bought into those waning fames
The only cure for birth and death
Is to live the life in between
Me and Mr. Emotionally Unstable
Have been curing ourselves clean
Another conglomerate on Hollywood and Western
Another conglomerate on Vine and Sunset
And if somehow compassion became currency
What would be bought with all of that regret
There are always stains across the wall beside where my bed lays
There is always a sugary gloss in my mouth when I express my rage
There will always be a river of people who I’ll fuck over unintentionally
They will always spill over into the eroding banks of my serenity
Another building is being put up, 10% of every dollar spent
Goes to some non licorice colored dude who smoke cigarettes
I will be in the river of people he fucks over without intent
Or maybe just a little after all he knows I will buy his bullshit
And he won’t love me
No more than I can spend
And Mr. East Coast Lonely Hearts
Won’t accept that I won’t bend
And this tug of war, this tug of whores
All clamoring for attention
Need to start waiting in line patiently
I’ve other needs that need a listen
My dirty walls, my dirty draws
Deliver me
My pierced titty, my fucked up city
Deliver me
My “I don’t care’s”, my nappy hair
Deliver me
My sex toy bin, My ex boyfriend
Deliver me
Another conglomerate on Gordon and Sunset
Another conglomerate on Sunset and Vine
My insecurities, sloth and history
are not incorporated but they are mine
My first couple of years in Los Angeles were arduous to say the least. Mainly because I was desperately trying to compete with the beautiful people who line its streets. I mean... even the unhoused have six packs there. This poem was my frustration of not being able to sit at the “cool kids” table, the system that set up the tables in the first place, and trying to find some semblance of self through it all.
Writer's Notes
Writer's Notes
My first couple of years in Los Angeles were arduous to say the least. Mainly because I was desperately trying to compete with the beautiful people who line its streets. I mean... even the unhoused have six packs there. This poem was my frustration of not being able to sit at the “cool kids” table, the system that set up the tables in the first place, and trying to find some semblance of self through it all.







