unreasonable

the pain
that special pain
of losing someone
suddenly
& for no good reason
no
everything does not happen
for a fucking reason
it does not
there are so many
senseless happenings
in this goddamned
existence
unless…pain
unless pain is it’s own
reason
but
that
would be just
completely
unreasonable

this time of year is just one big clusterfuck of bad memories
& bad feelings.
shitballs.
i have this fucking dark cloud hanging over me. every move is like i am underwater. just trying to tie my fucking shoes or something.
& it feels impossible
& i hate myself
for not being able to pull it together.

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just kidding

people can’t tell the difference
(or maybe they don’t want to)
between my
laughing
& my crying
my being funny
& my being
tragic
but can i blame them?
when i so often
cover my pain
with jokes?

i guess
for everyone
it’s easier to
laugh
than to
cry.

i believe in me

imposter syndrome triggered….

i just applied to be on a website that features women illustrators. it is for professional illustrators.
am i professional?
am i?
well…what am i if i am not professional? who am i then?

so many questions.

all i can do is write “i believe in me” over & over until i am convinced i am spelling it wrong.

(i believe in me)

wolfmom & the bear trap

i don’t know how
to be human
right now…
i just want to
chew my arm off
& escape
this trap.

i’m crawling out of my skin tonight…crawling into my wolfskin, i guess.
i am terrible at human interaction…and sometimes i am even trying not to be.
terrible.
which makes it all that much worse when i fuck it up.

how it begins

i am the sad one
the broken-hearted
i am the one
who feels
my pain is invisible
i am the one
who feels
too much
…but when the little voices
whisper
“don’t give up”
i listen
i may be sad
& broken-hearted
…but i don’t
give up.

so if i were to start an art journal memoir…this would be the first page.

moses jones q&a

here i am
i have never left
can you hear me?
can you see me?
i am here
i have never left
see me.
hear me.

it felt good to do a doodle of my other self…my moses jones. my apocalyptic mama. it felt good to think about her.
she is a sort of self-portrait.
the me in a parallel universe
where dytopia has already sunk his teeth into us all.

i want to bring her back.
bigger.
better.

read my comics, if you will.
give me your thoughts.

sad aloneness

sadness
aloneness
& i wonder how many times
in how many ways
i can say
the same thing
& not be heard?
the comfort
of my invisibility
suffocates me
i want out
i. want. out.
can you hear
me?
please
get me out
of
my own head
before
i decide
i never
want to leave.

i think maybe this project has reached a conclusion…or maybe it will go on forever.
maybe i will go on forever
comforting myself with my own suffocating sadness

or maybe i will start an illustrated memoir.
i should really start an illustrated memoir.

okay.
so…i need an agent & a cheerleader.
someone who can tolerate large doses of bitter animosity & self-pity.
also, must enjoy loud children.