love letters & mermaid memories

i know y’all have been missing my so-called poetry….so here’s one i wrote yesterday (since i have not yet gotten my mojo pages in order….)

i am not going
to mail
this letter
i am not going
to hit “send”
blasting
my words
like confetti
in a storm
something that my primate brain
can accept
but can never
understand
so easily
&
instantly
bathing my victim
in my obsessive loneliness
despite his being many miles
away
many worlds
apart
from me
how many times
have i written this letter
how many people have looked away
as i exposed myself
pen on paper
fingers on a keyboard
my stupid message
in a stupid bottle
my longing to be heard
to be understood
by some
warm
body
somebody
am i special
to think someone
could love me
an impossible
thing
that comes so easily
to everyone else

in memory of mike connell

today is the eleventh antiversary of the day my big brother was murdered by the political party he spent his life working for.

above is a pastel i did in memory of his & my relationship.
below is a poem i wrote on the fourth antiversary of his death.

heavy

when someone close to you
dies
it becomes part of your description
she has brown hair
a nice smile
and her brother is dead

birthdays are the hardest
his last one
I didn’t know
it was the last
his voice sad on the telephone
my pledge to keep in touch
this time

we live in a world
where I can obsessively search for
intimate details of his death
available in short video
burning plane
gray matter spattered on a playground
his last words, “oh fuck.”

notorious IT guy for the other side
the “Forrest Gump of stolen elections”
everything reminds me
of him
the sound of a single engine plane
sad songs on the radio
politics, Christmastime, and charismatic men

I drink Irish whiskey this time of year
but it was Scotch at his wake
four years now
four years since the last election
four years since the plane crash
a conspiracy theorist’s wet dream
murder Republican style

when someone close to you
dies
do you let it redefine you?
hello. I’m Connell
a mama, a student, an artist
let me tell you
about my dead brother

confusion is nothing new

once i wrote a poem.
it really was a poem…or at least i thought so. i was twenty-four and was full of light & hope & tragedy. i borrowed the title from a line in the cyndi lauper song time after time,  “confusion is nothing new.” i love that line.
i lay alone in my room at night, and i wrote this poem.

teeth and gums and nakedness
nothing new
a series of dreams
that never come true
but can i really say
that i never get what i want?
when wants change
and needs are undecipherable?
needs
i’d like to get what i need
teeth and gums and nakedness
men following men
through my room
moonlight
sunlight
lamplight
condom wrappers
and nothing fulfilled
but i got what i wanted
for 30 seconds
teeth and gums and nakedness

i have been thinking about this poem a lot. twice as many years later. written half-way to here. i wonder if anything has changed. really. love seems just as meaningless today. just as trivial. i have given it so many many chances and all i have in the end is teeth & gums & nakedness.
still.

heavy

when someone close to you
dies
it becomes part of your description
she has brown hair
a nice smile
and her brother is dead

birthdays are the hardest
his last one
I didn’t know
it was the last
his voice sad on the telephone
my pledge to keep in touch
this time

we live in a world
where I can obsessively search for
intimate details of his death
available in short video
burning plane
gray matter splattered on a playground
his last words, “oh, fuck.”

notorious IT guy for the other side
the Forrest Gump of stolen elections
everything reminds me
of him
the sound of a single engine plane
sad songs on the radio
politics, Christmastime, and charismatic men

I drink Irish whiskey this time of year
but it was Scotch at his wake
four years now
four years since the last election
four years since the plane crash
a conspiracy theorist’s wet dream
murder Republican style

when someone close to you
dies
do you let it redefine you?
hello, I’m Connell
a mama, a student, an artist
let me tell you
about my dead brother

(written in 2012)

my anxiety writes a poem

if my oldest son
never comes home
i will have to take his homemade ship
to the river myself
to launch it
after so many times of telling him,
“no, not today…”
i will have run out of days to spend
with him
maybe i will set it on fire
have a viking funeral
as i wish he would come home
if my second son
never comes home
i will never be able to return the movie
we are supposed to watch together
i will have to keep it
and pay the library
for it
knowing i could buy a cheaper copy
i will never let go
of the movie we were supposed to watch
as i wait for him to come home
if my daughter never comes home
i will build a shrine of
barbie dolls
and tutus
i will sit and sing to myself
surrounded by her special things
i will wish i could hear her
speak words
have a conversation with me
just once
just once
as i hope for her to come home
if my youngest son never comes home
i will die inside
knowing i wasn’t the mother to him
that he needed me to be
knowing that i failed him
from the beginning
and the only way i can save him
is to save myself
and bring him home to me

sometimes when my kids go to visit their dad, i go to a special hell reserved for moms. sometimes i breathe and relax and enjoy my alone time. other times i climb the walls and let the demons chisel at my thoughts.

i didn’t intend to be a stay-at-home mom. however, when it came time for me to go back to work after fidgit was born, i found i couldn’t do it. at first i tried taking him to work with me, which was strangely tolerated. but i realized i was doing two jobs half-assedly and decided i needed to make a choice.
i chose being a mom.
and it has been a hard road. a very hard road. my ego has suffered a lot and sometimes i find myself wondering, “what if–” about my choice to be a mom at all. and then the catholic part of me kicks in and i live in fear that i have hexed my children with such thoughts.

being a mom is so fucking complicated.

i just want my kids to come home so i don’t have time to think about it.

a shithead in sheep’s clothing

i see you
i see you now
you hide in your chameleon’s skin
you turn the tables
you play victim
you say, “i wouldn’t have done it if you–”
you say, “but look at how awful you are”
you are a master of distraction
a master of disguise
while a moth wears predator’s eyes
for protection
you are a shithead in sheep’s clothing

bear with me, y’all. i am working through some angst & frustration.
nothing to see here!
it’s all a part of the healing….

now i need to go do some art.

(the minions are out of town & i am down in the dumps)

a poem for the full moon

my anger clings
to me
so tight
i can’t breathe
i can’t breathe…
i want to shed my anger
like a skin
i don’t want it anymore
i don’t need it
anymore
i want a new
fresh
skin
to welcome the world
to paint pictures on
to tell stories with
to experience love
& wonder
& all the beautiful things
that my anger
keeps at arm’s length
in some misguided
attempt
to protect me
from life…
i want to shed my anger
like a skin
& be born again
light
free
& happy.

a human connection

oftentimes i have hope
other times i don’t
belief that there is a person out there
willing to be there for me
willing to care about me
willing to help me up
when i fall down…

i so often fall down…

sometimes i have hope
sometimes i just want to hear a friendly
voice
share a laugh
talk about mundanely inane things
a warm body
so to speak
when i feel so cold
& alone

why do i feel so cold & alone?

sometimes i have hope.
maybe i shouldn’t
maybe hope is a thing that just hurts
maybe hope is a thing to put in a box
and forget all about
i wish i could forget all about
my hope
i wish i could put myself
in a box

when i posted on facebook about how my date-to-be not only cancelled on me but also blocked me on facebook, i had a “friend” comment this:

You may not like what I am about to say, but why are you looking so hard? Buy a “toy” online, and focus on your kids, your art, your animals. Isn’t the last thing you need another ex?

what the what the fuck? if you need to start your statement with “you may not like what i am going to say,” maybe you should re-think saying it. is it helpful? in this case–no it is not fucking helpful. i let this woman know that i am not “trying so hard” and that i have toys already. i also let her know that my kids, art, & homestead are my life. they are all i have. literally & figuratively. i asked her why she would begrudge me a human connection? and asked why she assumed it would be another ex?

mother fucker.

earlier that day i did my tarot & they warned me about a petty & jealous woman whose advice i should not heed. i wondered & meditated on this because i could not think of anyone like that in my life.  i concluded that it must be me. that i was petty & out to fuck myself over…huh…i guess i was wrong.
fucking tarot could have warned me that dude was going to flake out on me.
but i knew it already. i felt it already. i don’t know why though. i wonder sometimes if i was communicating with more than one person (that’s how different the impressions were when i was messaging with him.) i was sure he had lost interest. then all of a sudden he wants to see me. then he blocks me on facebook.

or is that just standard internet dating?

my brain likes a puzzle, so i keep going over details in my head.
is he married?
is he crazy?
did one of my outspoken opinions on facebook freak him out?
is he secretly a republican or a moron? (from his pof profile, fb profile, and conversations, he presented himself as someone intelligent, sensitive-ish, and on the left…however, he posted two sophomoric posts a couple of days before our supposed date…then deleted them the next day.)

i have heard other women talk about things like this happening. and on pof it happened once before for me. some guy coming on strong & then vanishing. and i kicked myself for falling for whatever ruse it was.
same here, i want to punish myself for being stupid enough to have any kind of hope of a human connection.

is it my fault for being naive & believing in people? i guess you could look at it that way. and i know plenty of people who have sworn off any hope of ever being in a happy relationship.
i can’t do that.
i can’t give up because giving up would be…giving up.

i can’t give up.

the bat card…rebirth

i have woven
together
love & rejection
my earliest experiences with love
being rejection

people become important to me
once they have
rejected me
i focus on this rejection
instead of
acceptance

i look for my worth
in the eyes
of people…of men
who reject me.

i feel anger that i am not
valued
i let my anger become
who i am.

i am not my anger.
i am not that reflection
i see
in the eyes
of people who cannot
love
me.

don’t let the crazy leak out

don’t let the crazy leak out
hold in
breathe in
keep it in
don’t let the crazy out
don’t show your hand too soon
get under his skin
become a rash
he doesn’t know he has
an itch he just has to scratch
be charming
drop those red flags
like dainty, lace handkerchiefs
that he will pick up
and find endearing
before he realizes what they are
and then it is too late
he’s stuck with you
voila
love.

so, when i think about starting a relationship, i am like elsa in frozen. (for those of you who don’t have princess-loving children, that is a disney movie loosely based on hans christen anderson’s story “the snow queen.”) when she is trying to hide her strangeness, she feels she has to hold it in–but once she flees society she feels she can be whoever she wants to be.

yeah.

that’s me with relationships. dainty red neurotic flags…oops, did i drop that?

so even though i have been determined to marry my homestead & live happily ever after without a man in my life, i found myself cruising “plenty of fish” and online shopping for a relationship…again.
i didn’t expect to find anything. it was mostly restless energy & hormones. longing for an adult conversation.
i don’t know if i have found anything, but my heart is doing that stupid fluttery thing. wow. i haven’t felt that for awhile.
but he’s too perfect. too pretty. so i am bound to fuck it up.
wait.
stop.
don’t think like that.
be positive.
i am a precious jewel. i am a fascinating creature. i am strong & beautiful woman. i am intelligent & creative & just super fucking awesome…i am worth the trouble….

he says he’s an empath. he seems–dare i say it–relatively sane?

so i will fuck it up.
(no no no. not there again.)

i was “chatting” with some other guy who was all like, “you seem like a catch. why are you single?” and i responded, in typical em style, “oh no. i’m difficult. & strange.” yup. never heard from that guy again.

no one gets me.

but what if this one does? ah crap. i need to check my bee hives. build a new chicken coop. do laundry. muck a sheep stall…what am i thinking?

(ps. i gave up on my idea of cultivating mushrooms when i realized you have to have a clean–super clean–house to do it in. i was all like, “sign from the universe, you are meant to forage for mushrooms!” ha!)

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