queen of hearts

i don’t like
the way my heart
quickens
when i see your name
i don’t like
that my first instinct
is to hide the crazy
to trod
gently
to not
scare you away
i don’t like the yearning
i feel
when i see your eyes
when i read your words…
the last thing
i need
is another
broken heart.

this was originally posted on july 24, 2018.
i used bamboo pen on the re-do. i really like it. i am hoping to get enough of these together that i can publish a book of self-portraits & free verse. so stay tuned.

this morning i was heavy with dreams. usually i wake up and can’t fall back asleep even though i don’t want to get out of bed. this morning, even if i tried to wake up, i was pulled back into dreams.
my dreams did not want to let me go.
they were fun too.
i had moved back to austin, texas & was having romantic trysts with two of my more tragic crushes.
ah…yummy.

this was written as i was considering having a crush on someone. however, that person kept being such a bonehead that i could not fully fall head over heels for him.
that’s the problem with crushes.
i’m fickle, & they usually piss me off before i can be completely crushed.

after writing about needing some mad love so i can lose some weight…i started thinking about my crushes.
other than johnny shipley, in all my years of tripping into love, there is only one other crush who did not end up disappointing me & still holds a bright spot in my heart.
jimmy phillips.
ah…he was a sweet one. even though he borrowed my toothbrush & then told me it was time to get a new toothbrush…he was still too good to be true. maybe if it’s the right guy, nothing will disappoint me. then again, both jimmy & johnny ran for the hills after just a short romantic interlude with me. maybe i only fall for impossible men…but that’s a post for another day.

so there’s the tough bit, y’all. i fall in love easily…but i fall right back out again almost just as quick.
poop.

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fair to middlin’

to quote myself over on my patreon page:

my shadows are part of who i am. without those dark spots, you wouldn’t be able to see my bright colors & beautiful light…. without my dark bits, i think life would be much more dull.

i am still creating over there, should you want to do the dollar a dance to see what i’m up to.
here’s a sneak peek:

meanwhile.
i’m doing okay-ish. i keep crying & wondering why i am so sad & then remembering the folks in new zealand & then crying some more.

i feel like i am on a cusp…but i often feel that way. maybe i just live on the cusp.

& i updated my profile picture. i love the old one (from spring of ’16) but always felt weird posting serious comments with a laughing face. i know it shouldn’t bother me, dark & light & bright & shadows and all that…. one of the reasons i liked my old profile picture is that it was one of me with my hair down–as it was taken in the morning (i often wear a tiara first thing in the morning) before i got pissed off at my unruly hair & tied it back. but lately, i’ve been wearing my hair down…my own little attempt to embrace the wildness that is me. to stop tying myself back. so here’s a picture of that.

one day my smile will return. i just know it. being on the cusp & all….



gorey laundry

my dad
he was
embarrassed to be
my dad
he thought
i was weird
different
abnormal
my dad
he was
embarrassed
of me
of the way
i dressed
of my being
outspoken
with opinions
contrary
to his own
my dad
he was
embarrassed
to be my dad
embarrassed
that i wanted to be
a writer
an artist
he tried to convince me
of the mistake
i was
making
he did not believe
i could possibly
succeed
i would be a failure
…how embarrassing
he was
embarrassed
of me
my dad
a man who did not
show his hand
a man
who kept so much
hidden
my dad
he could not bother
to hide
his
embarrassment.

i was to give a speech at my high school graduation because i was the salutatorian of my class.
my dad did not want to go to my graduation because he was sure i would embarrass him.
on my perfect little sister’s wedding day, i was put in the uncomfortable position of being her maid of honor. my dad’s words to me?
“don’t embarrass your sister on her day.”
he told me i would regret following my dreams. he told me that no one actually follows their dreams. he told me i had to be practical.
my dad.
spent so much time pushing me down.
when i eloped with a stranger (because i just wanted to believe that someone could really love me,) he said, “you’re not my problem anymore.”
i guess
now that he’s dead
i can say that right back to him.

thanks to edward gorey for this illustration inspiration

i could tell “worse” stories about my dad. about his alcoholism and his violent temper & how terrifying my childhood was…but the weird thing is, though that stuff was terrifying…it didn’t hurt nearly as much as living a life knowing what he thought of me.

needed: mad love

okay. i am still waiting on my sexy punk rock lumberjack poet.

speaking of lumberjacks, i am totally built like a lumberjack…or a linebacker, if you will. seriously. i have “man hands” and size 11 feet. my ideal weight is 150, anything under 145 would probably be too thin for my frame.
as an adult, i have only been that weight once, briefly. historically (before children) i was around 160. which was comfortable for me.
recently i went through my journals of that time in my life when i could have been called skinny (2002 to be exact.) i mean, i was eating well & exercising…but most of my life i eat well & exercise. plus, i was still drinking somewhat actively at the time…so….
i could not figure out what was different, but around the beginning of 2002, i lost a bunch of weight, it just fell off of me. i was super sexy & healthy. i worried that people might think i was doing drugs–that’s how fast the weight came off.
the reason i am obsessing about it right now is because i am all of a sudden at my heaviest weight ever. even heavier than i was during my pregnancies.
it’s disturbing.
okay, so i’m perimenopausal & that apparently wreaks havoc on one’s weight.
but holy fucking crap. i could feel fat rolls on my back today & my thighs are all of a sudden extra chunky.
so i’m kind of freaking out.
i am also cutting out dairy, simple carbs, and (sob!) beer.
i am doing yoga every day (i always do) and am starting to do a cardio exercise daily as well.
so
i was out walking today to get back in the habit (i used to power walk at least 2 miles a day back in the day but have fallen out of the habit since coming to rural illinois.)
& while walking, i remembered what happened just before i lost all that weight.
i fell in love with johnny shipley, an adorable punk rock muppet-looking bartender in lexington, kentucky.
head over heels.
& we dated for like a week before he dumped me for his rich little lesbian friend. however, i continued to stalk him for months. months. when someone tends bar in a pool hall down the street from where you live, it’s really easy to stalk them. & i still get a little tingly when i think of him now, so many years later.
sigh.
but i had just come out of a long & miserable (okay, year & a half) marriage where i felt so ugly & unwanted. proceeded by a two year relationship with a narcissistic & abusive fuck named travis. proceeded by being dumped by someone who said they would love me forever.
falling in love felt awesome.
& apparently, it triggered my body to become smoking hot.
love.
it makes sense.
mind over matter. hormones. all that.
i even dreamed it recently. i literally had a dream saying that falling in love would help me lose weight.
so
i need to fall in love.
it’s been a long & miserable time–17 years this time–17 years of dealing with my 2nd husband & being manipulated, rejected, cheated on, & treated like crap.
i need to fall in love & remind my body that despite it all, i am still young & lovely.

i am re-posting my version of “the kiss” by gustav klimt because i am too tired to ink something…it was this or a picture of mikel jollett looking super sexy (that’s redundant.)

feeling gorey

over on my patreon page i did an art journal page about my dad. somehow, using edward gorey in the illustration seemed to work.
this is the first time i have borrowed from edward gorey–one of my favorite male artists & an early dark influence on my life & art & sense of humor. i was pretty excited about doing it. i might try to do more in the future when my posts are particularly dark & dreary.

i have also done some other art journal pages (on enlightenment &
on ghosting)

as well as another page of “stolen.”

speaking of…i watched warrior queen, a movie about boudica–a celtic queen who kicked roman ass.
i can very much relate to the ancient celtic lifestyle as well as their hatred of romans. does that prove i lived a past life as a celtic queen? who knows. but i am enjoying creating my story about it.

sustained on rejection

am i sustained by
rejection
like a panda
surrounded
by bamboo…did rejection
become my staple
& now
now that the bamboo
is scarce
do i actively seek
rejection
lumbering
past greener pastures
to find my
desolate
patch
of bitter rejection
where i can sit
uncomfortably
& gorge myself
on defeat?

one of the problems with not always being able to illustrate my thoughts as i write them (this one was written 10 days ago & i am just getting to it) is that i do not always remember what sparked my free verse ramblings.

my childhood was a big pot of rejection. out of six kids, i was nobody’s favorite. my younger sister (closest in age to me) was mortified by me & even suggested i do myself in. my peers at school actively avoided me. i was charlie brown on valentine’s day. i eventually had to go to a neighboring town to find a boy strange enough to kiss me.

so…did rejection become a familiar “friend” that i sought out as my adult life began? seeking out the boys who didn’t want me. focusing on them. throwing myself, relentlessly, at them. sending out stories to publishers without first attaining the necessary writing skills. staying on the fringes. watching, but never joining.

do i still seek out rejection? will i ever stop expecting rejection? will i ever believe i am good enough that i will not be rejected? has it become a self-fulfilling prophesy that keeps me exactly where i am?

just some musings as i wait to be rejected by a publisher & an art award…not even entertaining the idea of dating because–look at me–who the fuck would want this?

the other day i read my tarot cards. they told me that i need to learn to like myself. they told me to stop obstructing myself. to stop living in fear of moving forward.
but…i am not sure i know how to do that.
they never tell me how to do it.

it’s all fun & games until someone ends up married

the thing is
you like me
better
when i’m gone
you like
the fantasy me
the unavailable
me
better…
every time i left
you fell in love with me
all over again
every time
i returned
you quickly remembered
what a pain i was in your
ass
maybe you drive me
away
so you can revel
in the pain of losing
me
without having to live
with the pain
of having
me.

this one goes out to ex-husband number one.
he was not one of the narcissistic assholes, he was category #2 of men i find myself with: emotionally unavailable men.
i mean, i guess the narcissists are emotionally unavailable too…but some are just emotionally unavailable, otherwise, not bad guys.

ex-husband number one is totally emotionally unavailable.
you should read my journals. we met when i was just about to leave lexington, ky. to keep me from leaving, he proposed marriage.
on retrospect
that’s a bit extreme. couldn’t he have just said, “i think we have something good here, would you consider staying so we could find out?”
but
of course
he never actually talked to me about his feelings, so….
and–being me–i married him. he barely functioned in our relationship, & we quickly broke up.
i moved out.
then he started half-assedly showing interest in me again.
i moved back in.
then he quickly lost interest again.
so i moved out. moved to texas. moved to georgia. moved to colorado.
coming back to him, over & over & over again.

durp.

then, get this, i texted him recently, being friendly–just friendly–& he wants me back…again. i was like, yeah, i show up with my four kids & you run for the hills.
he texted back, “try me.”
motherfucking fucker fuck.
what is his issue?
at least i’m smart enough now (& no longer interested in being his yo-yo) to keep my distance.
but it still pisses me off.
he was talking marriage…again. is he a sadist? a masochist? delusional?

i know the drill.
i show up, he freaks out, i leave again.
but this time with four kids in tow?

ack.
i can never ever get married again. never. no “third time’s the charm.” fuck that. i can never get married. not only can i not trust that people are who they pretend to be, but also am i just not cut out for domesticity.
i can blame the guys all i like
but truth is
it’s always a relief when those divorce papers go through.

maybe i should get it tattooed on the back of my hand for next time i am getting love-bombed & think that marriage might be fun in a happily ever after kind of way:
remember DON’T get married


invisible threads

maybe he still holds me
with
invisible threads
cords woven
into my heart
maybe he still keeps me
in a prison
with no bars
i think i am free
but somehow
i am not…
how many times
have i left him
but maybe
he still holds
me
after all
in his
refusing to let me
go
he pounds another nail
into my coffin
telling himself
he is keeping me
safe.

as i was driving, monday, to take the minions to meet their dad, i glimpsed another passenger in my car when i glanced to the rear view mirror.
shortly after, i drove past a cemetery with a fresh grave.
i wondered, will their father be there, at the meeting place?
or am i finally free?
i was sure that my ex-husband had died.

however, as we now know, it was my father who had died, not theirs.

i thought that if my ex-husband had died, i would be a little sad. i mean, my kids would lose their dad…but i would also feel…
free.
kinda the way i felt when i found out it was in fact my father who had died.

on retrospect, i guess i shouldn’t be surprised that i got the energy of my dead dad mixed up with the energy of my ex-husband…i mean, there is a reason i often choose charming narcissistic assholes to be with.

& what i wonder now is…can’t i be free without anyone else having to die? how do i break the binds that he keeps me tied with? because i truly believe that his not letting me go is stopping me from being truly free of him.

ding dong

i was at the doctor’s office yesterday as i have been avoiding a physical for a number of years. you would think after four kids & not even knowing the number of people who have seen my lovely crotch in baby related matters…i wouldn’t be fazed by having my lady bits cranked open & ogled…but maybe one never learns to enjoy that experience….
anyhoo.
my doctor–literally–said to me, “tell me about your mother.”
it was everything i could do to not launch into a re-enactment of the scene from blade runner...you know the one–and if you don’t, you better get the fuck to a library & check that movie out (the original one.)

i can’t remember where i was going with this.

so my dead dad was going to be shipped back to illinois (aka the place where i live) to be buried with his family in the local catholic cemetery. i have had a stress headache about it since monday. i have been cleaning (i hate cleaning–it seems i do not have a domestic bone in my body) & dreading the descending judgement of my family who would be returning to our childhood home & how i would be viewed. bracing myself for enduring snide little comments about cobwebs & dust & having microwaves & coffee makers (i also hate most appliances other than blenders) brought from the basement to clog the counter space. and do i need to take down my pagan alter & put away my art & witchy things?

then this morning i got word that my mom has decided to cremate him & keep him in texas.
i suspect she is doing it as a last ditch effort to keep him away from his mom whom she was always jealous of & who is buried in the cemetery he was headed for….
but! whatever reason that crazy lady has for keeping my dad in texas, i am grateful.

when i heard my dad had died, all i felt was relief. like the scene in wizard of oz…then dread when i realized that his death meant i would have to see my family.
though i am lonely & isolated, i am not so desperate for company that i would relish a visit from my family.
knowing my little world is safe once again, i feel at peace.
yikes, right?
either i am the most awful person in the world…or…i dunno. maybe i am the most awful person in the world.
ah well–fuck it.

oh, & here are snippets of projects available over on my patreon page…an art journal page plus the final page of “fetish” & two more pages of “stolen”

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