strong in the force

i can feel you
in my bones
like a nostalgia
you can wear
snug
& warm
comforting but suffocating
i can feel you
& i watch
for you to
somehow
wander back into my
life
while telling myself to
knock it the fuck
off
i can feel you
in the tears
i can no
longer
cry
but
still
do
i can feel you
like an impending
thunderstorm
the smell of rain
anticipation
hope.

it has been almost five months since i have looked at his instagram. but i did look, after the dreams started. and he is in illinois. chicago, at least.
and i can imagine him coming to see me.
i can imagine it so vividly.
the look on his face
what he would say….

there are just two men whom i have actually, truly loved out of the dozens–yes dozens–of men whom i have known, you know, biblically….
once loved…always loved. that’s how i know the love was (is) true.
how do you forget something like that?

you don’t.

it pops up in your dreams to haunt you & you find yourself doodling him as the leia to your luke. (before it was known they were actually siblings)

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haunted

in my dream
i was on a blind date
i knew it was not
going to work out
but i ordered pad thai
anyway
& tried to make
conversation
when
suddenly seymour
you were scooching in
next to me
your arm slung
over my shoulder
whispers
in my ear
in my dream
you filled my senses
& my date
was forgotten
of course
i left with you
& when i woke up
i was left
without
you
but i clung to the dream
the feeling
not letting it fade
i held tight
like every other time
i dream
of you
i clutched it close
& wondered
if you knew you were in my dream
& wondered
was i in
yours?

is it because it’s christmas-time? is that why my brain is torturing me? or is he thinking of me & i am so fucking empathic that i can feel it three states away?
or is he closer? home for the holidays?
oh my god. i was barely thinking of him. i thought i had let him go.
is that why he is back?
fuck a duck.
i had the dream sometime during the night. it was not the only dream he was in, but it was the one i held tightest to & kept with me until morning, etched into my brain so it would not fade away.
when i got up in the morning and walked into my kitchen, of course the time on the clock was his birthday.
7:28
how many times do i see that on my clock and try to pretend it means nothing?
well, merry fucking christmas.
i got a haunting.

anomaly

i fell off
the bell curve
i was barely
hanging
on
commercials play
to an empty room
i can’t find a coupon
because
no one seems to be selling
what i am buying
somewhere
over the bell curve
i live
as people stare
bohemian
rhapsody
is the rhythm
of my
life
because i fell off
the bell curve
i will mess up your
survey
muck up
any audit
i am an anomaly
i am me
searching for my perfect
oddball.

i’ve told this story before. i was waiting tables in dallas when a customer, illustrating with hand gestures, said, “this is the bell curve. you are over here.” he pointed to somewhere far left of the bell curve.
that was around the turn of the century.

and i have only gotten stranger with age.

anytime i take my circus troupe to the grocery store. or think about dating. anytime i entertain thoughts of intermingling with society at-large.
i realize how fucking different i am.
which is totally okay
(even thought the kids went on & on about our being stared at in kroger yesterday–but that might have been because misha would not stop sniffing the gum display)
i like being different, as challenging as it can be sometimes.

i don’t know why i am unconventional. i would argue nature over nurture, but, then again, my birth family was pretty weird too.

anyhoo.
it’s me.
anomaly.

ruin me

creeping
uninvited
unwanted
my self-conscious with a cruel
twist
brings him to life
in my dreams
again
i push him out
turn off the radio
when
our song plays
write one thousand poems
to exorcise
his haunting of me
yet!
he creeps
uninvited…unwanted
back
into my dreams
where i am
defenseless
back
into my heart
where i am
ruined
all
over
again.

can you hear me?

with desperation
i try to get you
to hear me
not because i need
you
to hear me
but because
i need
to be heard
but you live
in your own world
as i live
in mine
& these parallel universes
never
cross
lines.

finding medusa

i’ve spent a lot of today working on my collection of short stories that i hope to publish.
so far i am calling it walk with me.

then i took a break to doodle medusa. (doodling medusa…that would be a good title for something!)
which brings me to the proclamation of how much i fucking love writing. creating. making entire universes and breathing characters alive.
and there are stories everywhere.
just waiting to be plucked & polished.

i feel like i am blooming.
as an artist…as a writer…as a person.
it’s very exciting.

and a nice change from moping.

freckles

as the sun rises
i wake up
to find poppy & the puppy
already awake
as the chores wait
i lay in bed & listen
to these early morning musings
by poppy
as he imagines that the puppy
has feet
like a person
insists
really
that he had made a potion
to give people feet
to puppies
i love the bedtime & early morning
musings
of these little people
who enchant
my life.

just messing about. this reminded me of a poem i wrote about iggy when he was four and as we were cuddling & reading bedtime stories he told me he wanted to eat a live pigeon .
if i could just do all my momming while laying about in bed.

my poem for iggy:

pirates in disguise
“they’re made from recycled money,” says the woman
handing out pencils at the bank.
“recycled money,” i repeat.
“that’s cool,” i tell him.
“noooo,” he insists. “recycled bunnies.
she said ‘bunnies,’
‘cause the bones are hard like pencils.”
when it is bedtime he tells me he wants to eat a chicken
boil off the feathers and eat it.
i remind him that he has eaten a chicken.
“oh,” he says. “i mean a seagull.
i want to eat a live seagull.”
he asks me to dye his mohawk purple.
he asks me to sharpen it when the hair on his head grows too long.
he changes his clothes many times a day
just like he changes his mood.
he is fierce & he is powerful.
only four years old;
he is mighty & the world belongs to him.
i know he is mine because i see
the stubborn
feisty
rebellious
warm & fuzzy
miracle that he is.
we cuddle together & tell each other secrets
like
i love him all the way to the moon & back
& he loves me for all the sharks in the ocean
& sometimes i feel halloween is the only time we show who we are
every other day
we are pirates in disguise.

the longest night

this profound amount
of broken
that is me
my heart is on
the fault line
holding me together
& tearing me apart
i wait
to be
rescued
from me
knowing
all along
no one is coming
& that
my fantasy can no longer
sustain me
maybe i should just
go ahead
& break apart
an egg
a seed pod
a cocoon
releasing the me
i should have
been.

happy solstice!
this is another art journal page that started one day & was finished another day. started on a bleak day, finished on a brighter day. i swear the waxing moon fucks me up. my moods hop around like rabid ferrets.
plus the crap with anger & sadness about death & divorce anti-versaries.
but
it is a new day. the shortest day. the longest night. kind of like a new moon, the world is full of possibilities as days grow longer again.
i look forward to the quiet of winter to work on my art, writing, and momming. (just between you & me, i really need more work on my momming…but tend to wander off to work on the art & writing.)

(to be sung to the tune of “creep” by radiohead….)

i would just like
to announce
that i have never
won a blog award
and after like
what
three years here?
i do not even have
400 followers.
can anyone beat me
at losing?
(i don’t belong here…
i don’t belong here….)

i have been meaning to do this post for awhile. when people “like” something of mine, i check out their blogs & undoubtedly, they are celebrating their 4 millionth follower after two months of blogging & have at least that many awards. usually, those folks don’t actually follow me–i suspect they themselves are fishing for more followers. maybe that’s why they have so many followers. they are good at the fishing.

but, you know what, i love the followers i do have because i know they are following me despite my massive unpopularity & inability to work social media. and i totally get excited each time i get a new follower.

also! anyone i am following, you can know i am following you because i genuinely like your blog. no gimmicks. i just like you.
unlike on twitter or instagram where people will follow me until they realize i am not following them back, and then quit me…breaking my poor little heart…
unlike that, i am sincere about who i follow. i never even check to see if you follow me back.
not that i have the attention span to do that….

and as for awards.
i am not here for awards.
(in fact i have seen on a couple blogs that they actually have a “no awards accepted” thingy…not that i need one–but i totally respect that.)
i am here to share my story & to share my art for anyone who is interested or who feels akin to my words & inkings.
so i am not really counting my followers or waiting for awards. i am here to express myself and to connect with authentic folks like you.

the art above is a postcard i made one time when i was at zinefest and the printing company did not have my postcards done on time. so i made postcards to sell while i sat at my table at zinefest–which ended up being more fun than having already made postcards.
i have stuffed lion just like the one in the inking. lisa the lion, although she is 40 some years old & tattered to bits.

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