i’m trying to figure out
how to live
with a heart
that is not broken
so much of my life
has been spent
in my own pain
dancing to the beat
all my days spent
trying to heal
breaking my self
all over again
so much of my life
i have no idea
how to live
wrapping myself up
in my own
i wrote down the thoughts on this page after commenting on someone’s post about broken hearts.
i liked the idea and this poem is my attempt at flushing out the idea of learning to live with a heart that is not broken.
i might play with it more.
the dodo bird is my spirit guide as i try to fly.
reminding me not to be too trusting.
reminding me to survive.
i have been thinking a lot about starting to do comics again. my latest posts are a bit cartoon-y…which i have to keep reminding myself that that is okay. it is okay to draw the way i draw. it is okay to not be michelangelo.
but maybe my subconscious is trying to steer me back to comics. i like to draw. i like to write stories…comics make sense. i just have to accept that, also, i am never going to be stan lee.
i am me. i have my own style. i have my own story to tell.
i have decided
i will be alone
until i’m not
my weeds will grow
until i pull them
my lawn will get long
until i cut it
the wrong colors
until i paint them
will wax & wane
& i will not give away
i started to write about this page & realized i had a new page to write.
the same thing happened yesterday when i commented on someone’s post–i looked at my own comment & was all like, damn, them are some pretty words. and i gathered them up & nestled them into my art journal.
page by page.
one page at a time.
for the first time
i am not looking
to rescue me
not like i’m some fucking damsel
though i’ve tried
i’ve never managed to convince
i am a damsel
in the back of my head
is the thought that someone
a certain someone
but my hero
on his white horse
would soon ride in
& whisk me away
from all this…
i’m in brand new territory, y’all. if i was still in therapy, i would be having a “breakthrough.” but it’s just you & me here…watching…waiting…wondering.
and here we are.
brand new territory.
you know what?
what happens next will happen next.
meanwhile, i have started that queer week of my every month where i am a mother with no children. i mean…they still exist, but they are in wisconsin with their dad. and i am here, waiting…watching…wondering.
is this a week where i blossom & explore…or a week where i wither & mourn? it often goes either way.
but this time…
i think it is going to be the former.
don’t tell the minions, but after i left them with their dad–i felt a certain weight had lifted, & i could breathe again. yes, i will miss them…but in the meantime, i will revel in my perceived & temporary freedom from motherhood.
i’m a super
there are some pretty
i do overtime
with my emotions
i tend to
when it comes to developing my
lazy lazy lazy
i wrote this after reading so so many well-thought out & highly intellectual pieces of writing.
then i was all like, “okay, don’t be so hard on yourself…i mean, you do a lot in a day. you aren’t lazy.”
but then i came back with…”do you know how many things i do half-assedly?”
and of course i know, because i am there to witness all the times in a day, in a week, in a year, in my lifetime, i pull something out of my ass or just go–“i bet this will work,” without doing the research or taking the time to learn more first.
i mean…i can’t even let my ink dry.
and then i’m all like, “fuck it, blurry ink is part of my style, y’all.”
but you know what i do spend a great deal of time doing thoroughly?
yes, being god-damned emotional and paying attention to my emotions as well as any emotional energy i feel floating in the ether around me as if emotions are the key to the universe.
i know emotions.
i’m not just emotionally intelligent–i am an emotional super genius.
so i’m totally
i am starting my life
i was holding the map
i’ve got it right
& i’m ready
to do this
to start my life…
(watch me go!)
i didn’t plan this one out either…but i had been wanting to throw in some stigmata…what recovering catholic can resist a little stigmata?
we are kind of in a midst of this vein (ha–no pun intended) of my art journal.
my little revelation.
ooh–revelations. there’s another good catholic outlet….
ps. it is less than a week until my 30 year high school reunion. picture every movie you’ve seen about small town high schools. yeah. that’s it.
and i was carrie…except they didn’t even like me enough to dump pig’s blood on me….
so i still don’t have a date…unless tara makes it down here in time….
should i stay or should i go? i did rsvp “no” to the sit-down steak dinner…but “maybe” to the after bar. instead of saying i had to wash my hair–i said i had to put away my livestock…which is true.
i thought it might be in bad taste to ask if anyone cool would be there. odds are no. i mean, in a class of 70-some, there were very few cool people.
& why would they come back?
(i mean other than to homestead with their four children because they were broke & twice divorced & had no where else to go?)
so i need someone super hot & dazzling to be my most awesome date ever…is david tennant available maybe?
or i will just stay home, drink a beer, and look at the stars.
it’s not just that
i’ve written these words
drawn this face
but i have lived
following my own tracks
i am afraid
to move forward
sometimes…sometimes i just start drawing & see what happens. it’s been more common for me to do this than to plan out an illustration for my words. my thinking about what i’m going to draw before drawing it is a more recent development.
used to be, i would just start drawing.
which is what i did with this one.
but i kept thinking…why does this look so familiar (i mean, other than being a self-portrait)…then it hit me. i unintentionally/ subconsciously? drew me in the style of tank girl.
i love tank girl. she was a comic i was turned on to back in the late 80’s–early 90’s when i used to shave all of my head except my bangs wore trousers & doc martin boots & someone handed me a tank girl comic…because….
and i fell in love.
the same thing happened with love & rockets.
and both of these comics were ones i studied when i was trying to take my illustration skills from my confusion perfume days to my moses jones days.
but i did not set out to–or mean to at all–draw me in the style of tank girl. so now i’m wondering about that and about the bubbles that started out as a ball pit but morphed into a bubble bath which i didn’t realize until i read the last part of my journal entry.
so…why am i tank girl in a bath?
what am i trying to tell myself?
because, as master oogway says, “there are no accidents.”