self-promotion

for some fun summer reading
explore the light & dark parts of me
all available through lulu.com
&
just putting it out there,
if you do like my book
the invisible exhibitionist
you are totally encouraged to review it over on goodreads
in fact
all three of my books
as well as anthologies i was included in
are on goodreads
check out my author page 🙂

football season

he is like lucy
with the football
assuring me
he is totally
one hundred percent
here for me
everything
will be okay
so i trust him
i run forward
& the earth falls away
& the wind is knocked out of me
& i am flattened…again
as he lets me know
it’s my own fault
while he places the football in place
again
& tells me
i should believe in him.

i am so hoping that i have broken the pattern. that i am no longer going to run up & try to kick that football. that i am able to walk away and keep on walking.
the man is not my friend.
he is not my family.
i cannot pretend otherwise, or i will get the air knocked out of me
again.

congestion

my nose & my chimney are clogged
is it me?
how do i get things
moving
without filling a house with smoke
or a handkerchief
with snot?

that free verse moment was brought to you by a congested head which is too tired & too muddled to continue its thought….
i keep forgetting i am a powerful amazing goddess…instead only seeing my lumps, bumps, and grey hairs.
however!
i have begun…or rather stopped…stopped pretending. in my relationship with the dad. i have stopped playing the game with him that we are some happy family despite the years of betrayal & my having divorced him. once literally and a dozen times more figuratively.

“hallmark moment” one of the many inkings to be found in my new book the invisible exhibitionist!

i have found that i have this desire to want to make people happy.
what the fuck, right?
okay, it might be a good desire…except for the fact that one person cannot actually make another person happy. and also the fact that i will then try to grant their wishes at the expense of my own happiness or comfort. and, sure, when it’s my kids, yeah, i can make the sacrifice on occasion…but when it’s my ex-husband? the one who is quick to turn on me? the one with the laundry list of grudges towards me? the one i cannot trust any further than i can throw him?
fuck that.
so i’m not playing house with the ex anymore. seriously. i’m stopping.

the beautiful artwork at the top of the post was done by my lovely daughter.

the invisible exhibitionist

the invisible exhibitionist was, in part, my response to social media. being a highly sensitive introvert, social media was especially difficult for me. why was everyone happy but me?
so instead of posting selfies with perfect hair, i inked how i saw myself, warts & all. instead of photos of my delicious meal or fantastic vacation, i posted free verse that glorified all of my short comings as a mother. as a daughter. as a friend & lover. 

i didn’t want to show everyone how well i was doing, i wanted to reassure others that they were not alone in their struggles.

the invisible exhibitionist is available through lulu.com or contact me for an autographed copy. 

image is “feral” one of the self-portraits from my book

notta not-a-boy page four

i got a fourth page written in record time!
in my defense, the way i do comics does take time.
especially when i am procrastinating…erm…percolating a story in my head.

and in case you are having trouble picturing the notta in me…this is 30 years ago at age 22:

no, you’re emo….

my heart is cold
& smells 
of rotting flesh
the turkey vultures
circle
sensing
my surrender
my heart is cold
& black
with defeat
it feels like a stone
in my chest
pulling me 
down
as i 
fall.

how was your mother’s day? 
why the fuck can’t i not sink into a terrible place on this day of mothers?
let’s not think too hard about it. let’s just have a drink and wait for the day to end.
i know it’s a hallmark holiday. i know it’s petty…but i can’t help but want to set fire to the father of my children and watch the burnt flesh fall off of him when i think about all he had to do was help the kids make me something/buy me something…some token…some little fucking whisper to say i am valued.
but no. impossible. totally impossible. even in this day & age where he likes to pretend he was baptized by dr. phil.
i know that on father’s day i will buy a rosemary plant (because he loves rosemary plants & killed the last one he stole from me) & put a ribbon on it & have the kids make cards & give it to him as if it were their idea….
and i imagine again the warmth that would come off of his flaming body….

i really don’t know if my kids value me or not. i really don’t. and maybe that’s another one of my shortcomings. another one of my flaws. maybe i fucked it all up. i mean, the two oldest are sixteen & fourteen and they can’t even be bothered to bring me something to plant? even after i told them where to go for it?

but i do like to pretend one day they will grow me a pot of marigolds and maybe bake a chocolate cake and say, “hey, thanks for being a good mom. thanks for sacrificing everything for us. we value you.”

ps. my kids did go & get me flowers to plant on the day after mother’s day…of course by then my mental collapse was complete.
my poor children.

of course i was spinning out on mother’s day

sometimes 
you have to dip your toe
back into that
pool of pain
sometimes
you have to take a sip
of your sweet misery
sometimes
you have to
dive in
wallow
swallow
drown yourself
baptize yourself
rise again
& face another day
forgiving 
yourself
but never 
quite
forgetting
who you were then
who you are now
so you never
have to do it
again.

on this seventeenth mother’s day, i obsess about mother’s day number ten. on that day we returned home from a trip to manitowoc after visiting a friend, the dad hurried ahead of me to our apartment. i was unloading the car, herding our four minions, oblivious.
however, once in our apartment, i happened to look out the window to see the dad throwing something into the dumpster. this struck me as odd because the dad never took out the trash. 
so, being in the midst of a fucked up relationship where things were constantly being done behind my back, i went out & looked in the dumpster.
there i found a bouquet of beautiful flowers and a letter from the dad’s crazy stalker girlfriend. but instead of being addressed to him, they were addressed to me. 
would he have thrown them out if they were for him?
the dad had never gotten me flowers (or anything else) for mother’s day because “she’s not my mother.” i was actually touched that his crazy stalker girlfriend had gotten me flowers. beautiful flowers. despite the betrayal involved in her fucking the dad as we tried (again) to be a family.
he could have let me have the goddamned flowers. 
i would have liked any flowers on mother’s day.
but once again my mother’s day was in a dumpster….

gonna buy me a dog…

who held the door open
for him to walk
through
who was supposed to
keep me
safe
who can i blame
when i run towards him
instead of
away?

the dad is bringing my minions back to me tomorrow…with intent to stay & hunt mushrooms. i don’t want him here, but it is hard for me to turn him away.
so begins the inner turmoil that comes with every interaction with him. that weird mix of wanting to see him, being almost excited to see him, but also wanting to scream at him until my head explodes & then bury him in a shallow grave.
so i turned to my dog today and began berating her for not biting my ex. she adores him. it’s embarrassing how much she throws herself at him. so i lectured her until i was in tears.
then i began to wonder who i really was angry at. who taught the dog that my ex is not a threat?
and i wrote this.
it sounded so familiar i looked back to january where i first wrote this thought.
in january i attributed this open door policy for assholes to my inner child who feels the need to rescue others due to her own need to be rescued.
but on second thought, i don’t blame her for this reoccurring theme in my life.
someone should have protected her.
someone should have taught her to protect herself.
my birth mother did not.
now it falls on me to do it. i need to be the fierce beast here. i need growl, to bark at intruders. bare my teeth and threaten their security. i need to protect me from those who would destroy me rather than wanting to be with them.
it is embarrassing that i have to learn that…that it isn’t just instinct.

comic art therapy

i have been brainstorming this comic for a week or more. which mostly means i doodle faces while i binge-watch shows (my kids are at their dad’s.)

it is still very much a work in progress…but i do like to share my process with y’all.
i have decided on five main characters…five reluctant mothers.
fun fact, the working title for this comic was: motherfucking twats & cunts. so i think i did manage at least to make it a little more accessible by changing the name to reluctant mothers.
the characters are based on mythological creatures…but they are everyday mums as well.

as always, if you want to support my art & creations, you are welcome to donate funds towards my struggles. you can find paypal information on my love for sale page as well as my artist for hire page, and a ko-fi donation link is on my me (nutshelled) page.
along with notta not-a-boy, i will be exorcising my motherhood demons along side my gender demons via comic art therapy.

and i have also been playing with the idea of revivifying my old comic weener’s coop to continue exorcising my intentional community demons….

and i am still working on my novel.
oh, and i’m a mom…living in a fixer-upper who needs fixing up…sigh.
stay tuned

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