ocean of tears

why do i feel
so heavy
why do i feel
like i am made
of lead
sinking further
into the earth
with each
step
i cannot
even
lift
my
head
how heavy am i?
how heavy is this?
is
sorrow
made
of
stone?
loneliness is
density is
an anchor
on my soul
dragging me
to depths
where the weight of this
ocean
of
tears
will finally
crush
me.

sometimes i feel like it has all been said before. like even i have said it all before. of course there is probably a good reason there is a universal suffering. a human condition. but at least i painted a pretty picture to go with it.

today i called on both my dodo bird & my giant squid. (two of my power animals)

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always for now

always & forever
did not last
as long
as i thought it would
always
became sometimes
& then
seldom
before falling off the world & into
never….
forever started to
sputter out
after
what?
just a couple of years?
a brief
forever
waxing & waning
away to
nothing.
never mind.

the difference between want & need

this is the day
mark it on your calender
this is the day
you no longer need
a relationship
to feel complete
to feel a purpose
a relationship
is like the beer in your fridge
you enjoy them
in healthy amounts
they leave you empty
if abused
you crave them sometimes
you think you can’t get through
the day
without them
sometimes…
but you can.
this is the day
you know that
know it to be true
being drunk on love
is no longer
a healthy option

keep a clear head
today is not the day
to lose yourself
today is the day
you find yourself.

while i am not giving up beer nor relationships, i am recognizing that i do not need either one in my life in order to make it through a day, week, month….
sixteen years ago today, i had my first date with dusty. at the suggestion of my soul sister, tara, i am changing the significance of today’s date.
today i stand tall & whether i have a beer later…or go on a date eventually…i know that i do not need to.

i keep ending up with flower heads. i’m not sure what is going on there. as always, y’all are welcome to analyze my art & let me know what is going on.

without fail, after i have posted art here, on tumblr, & on instagram, i realize i once again forgot to clean off my scanner & there is a stray hair or an ink smudge or both on my scanned artwork…fine…let’s just think of it as my copyright/watermark. 

call of the wild

not quite domesticated
not close really
at all
not fully wild
too much brain
asking questions
of my heart
i am decidedly feral
i can’t follow directions
i hate being caged
i bite
i fight
too much heart
telling my brain
just hush
not wild, not tame
i am
decidedly feral
i can’t
i won’t
follow rules
running away
from convention
my favorite song
is the one
my heart sings
& i listen
even when told
but those who tout what is
normal, thereby good
that i should not
especially
when told by those
who know best
that i should not
not
listen to
that heart song
but
it is my call of the wild
it is
my different drum
& it fills me
& drives me
feral.

heavy heart

one of those lives
where it feels like
you can’t do anything right
grand ideas
living by example
trying to change the world
but your bees die
your garden grows
away from you
and no one can find
the duck eggs
you’re ready to throw in the trowel
on this homesteading gig
go back to town
have neighbors who don’t poison
the fields around you
kids for your kids
to play with
long walks to parks & libraries.
sure you have to give up
big clear skies of endless stars
& listening to the coyotes & bullfrogs
sing at night…
bury away a couple dreams…
but
you’ll dig up new ones.

i am sucking hard at homesteading right now. and this will be the third time i have used the joke “throw in the trowel” without one single chuckle.

out the window

some days
my son is so much
like his father
i want to jump
out the window
i can leave the man
but i cannot
abandon
the boy
some days
being a mom
is so painful
so challenging
that i catch myself
wishing
i’d made different
choices
fantasizing
about a life
i did not have
a life
i will never
know
some days
as hard as i hope
for peace
all i know
is
chaos
inside
& out.

i sit & suffer in silence as a mom. which is weird, since i am so quick to share all my other angst.
is it the taboo?
is it our instagram existence?
only show the smiling children. only show the confident moments. only show the clean faces. carefully crop out the crap.
i read kelly’s post yesterday about how we may be causing damage by only showing the positive stuff regarding people’s challenges and how we view neurodiversity.
it made me think, today, as i was struggling with my challenges as a highly sensitive person & mother of four highly sensitive children. we do this with all of life, don’t we? only show the good stuff to each other? hide away those moments where we feel weak or out of control or not good enough?
maybe we should just air out our dirty laundry. form an alliance of imperfection.
i know, i do it all the time with my anxiety & relationship issues, my imposter’s syndrome, my abusive childhood, and all my other “failings.”

and yet i still hesitate when it comes to showing my–almost constant–struggles as a mom. like, i can show you all my cracks & crevices…but what will you think of me if you know i sometimes wish i wasn’t a mom? if you know the chaos of my every single day?

posting this has given me so much anxiety. i feel like i need to put on my helmet & buckle down because surely i will be judged–a bad mom. but, i have not deleted the post yet…. hoping that my pain & suffering will let someone else know that they are not alone.

(my favorite quote from one of my favorite novels, the hotel new hampshire–by john steinbeck, is to “keep passing the open windows.”)

phoenix rising

i realized something today
i am pretty fucking awesome
whether i’ve had
a beer…or two
or
am stone cold sober
whether my bathroom is clean
or the scene
of a toxic event
i am pretty fucking awesome
warts & all
literal & figurative
losing my mind
or all fucking zen
i am incredible
fantastic
amazing
think what you will
of me
but i am the only
one
who
knows for sure
i am
totally
fucking awesome.

after 250 self-portrait art journal pages (this is #251) in the past eleven months…it was bound to happen.
i felt good writing this…it was a bit harder to post as i am all, “what if i’m wrong? what if i suck?” but i totally felt it as i was writing it.
confidence.
belief in myself.
and it felt good.