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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

Breeze Vincinz Writer
Breeze Vincinz Writer

April 18, 2026

Breeze Vincinz Writer
Breeze Vincinz Writer
Breeze Vincinz Writer

Life As A Boy

Poems by Breeze Vincinz

On Sale Now

Breeze Vincinz Writer
Breeze Vincinz Writer
Firefly_Gemini Flash_A robotic toaster making toasted music 377765.png
Firefly_A robotic toaster making toasted music 377765.png

The Toaster Made Me Do It

My Complicated Love Affair with AI Music

Blog Post by Breeze Vincinz

Breeze Vincinz Writer
Breeze Vincinz Writer

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.

The Toaster Made Me Do It

Breeze Vincinz Writer
Breeze Vincinz Writer

My Complicated Love Affair with AI Music

Blog Post by Breeze Vincinz

Firefly_A robotic toaster making toasted music 377765.png
Firefly_Gemini Flash_A robotic toaster making toasted music 377765.png
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