scabby

i push
everyone
away
because i can’t deal
with me
my children, my pets
the ones who least deserve it
i push
hardest
i hurt them for being
a mirror
to my own
bad behavior
my own
shortcomings
proof
that i suck
so i shove them
with all my might
push it all
away
so i can say
“see?
i am a monster.
see?
no one should love
me.”

do you ever just look at the illustration for one of my pages and think, “fuck this shitstorm,” and then flip on past?
i did not know i could draw anguish this well. holy fuck. i look miserable. and when i look at the drawing, i know exactly what it feels like even though i am not feeling it at the moment…i was still able to draw it, even though i am not feeling it at the moment.
turns out, i am one of those people who believes things heal faster if you pick at the scabs.
that’s what this art journal is at least half the time.
my picking at my wounds to encourage them to heal…or at least make a scar i have a good story about.

so. i love children and animals. i’m not always a monster. but a lot of my injuries are from my own childhood & around my relationships with animals. so i have a lot of unresolved issues with children & animals that i struggle with.
some part of me thought it would be funny to surround myself with animals & children.
haha. so funny.
like immersion therapy or something? it doesn’t work like that. and as much as i love animals & children, i often feel as if i am drowning in my own inability to heal. it’s more than just picking at the scab–it’s poking an open wound.
it’s all me. i know that. my goat isn’t trying to be an asshole. my dog isn’t trying to overwhelm me with neediness. my children don’t intend to drive me insane (at least, i hope not, that would speak badly of their survival instincts….)
i can’t have less children. i am trying to thin out the herd of critters. and focusing really hard on not having those days where i am all, “why don’t i get 16 more things to take care of (aka stress out about.) surely i can handle that.”
that’s my next page in my art journal–killing that voice. that fucking voice. that “everything is wonderful–good time to make your life more complicated” voice.

anyhoo.
so i hope you stick around for my shitstorm
because after the shitstorm, comes the rainbow.
just, you know, bring an umbrella

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a new day

would i have
discovered
my strength
if i had
had
parents
who supported me?
would i have
learned
to love myself
if i had not have
had
to swim
in seas of rejection
for so much
of my life?
did i choose
this life
after all?
in some cosmic
challenge
an obstacle course
a scavenger
hunt
to find the best
version
of me
throw away the
“could have beens”
here is
who you are
here is
who you have
become.

the theme of “if only” is one that i have let hold me back for most of my life. now i find myself wondering if it was all for the best after all. i mean, it has been a long & tough fucking road…but now i am a tough fucking woman.
isn’t that who i want to be?
so maybe, as awful as my life has been, it has all been for a reason.

also, speaking of unintended paths & happenstance, this portrait may have been completely different if there had not appeared a small grease mark on my otherwise pristine page.
there are few things that irk me more than grease stains.
so after fretting about it a bit, i drew a flower on it.
then i drew another flower.
and another….
happenstance. that’s a good word.

the first page
in a fresh
journal
a new day

whispers

in a moment
of quiet
i try to conjure you
your face
your eyes
how it will feel
to be near you
but i am quickly
surrounded
by the ghosts
of boyfriends
past
& i find myself
taking inventory…
did i love
any of them
or did i just love
the idea
of being
loved?
the few i can remember
loving
were just whispers
in the wind
of the storm
of my life….
mostly i surrendered
to pretty faces
who
made me feel
i must be valuable
surely
i am valuable
if they
want
me.

more borrowing from gustav klimt for the illustration.

seriously. when i think back to the 30+ men who have worked as chapters of my life…i cannot remember if i actually loved them. was i actually attracted to them?
i can count on one hand the number of them that i did feel drawn to–and those were some of the shortest chapters.
did i scare them away with my intensity? did it just become safer & easier to let myself be adored than to seek out & ultimately be rejected by the men i adored?
the ones i adored were mostly broken men. men with a sadness about them. a beautiful sadness…. those were my muses. and they all slipped away from me, leaving me in a pool of narcissists.
sigh.
i can’t say that the men i chased would have worked out any better than the ones i let catch me. they were probably right to steer clear of me. i would have just broken them more. (not on purpose–i’m just made that way.)

so i don’t know what to imagine for the one who will love me as i love him. the one who won’t leave; the one i will not leave…other than a punk rock, lumberjack poet. surely a punk rock, lumberjack poet.

i finished my journal that i started on november 2nd of last year…which means i will be updating my “invisible exhibitionist” page.

good riddance

sometimes
he shows me
something
other than his wounded self
other than the
sad & scared
little boy
inside
the one he expects
me
to take care of
instead
sometimes
his true colors
emerge
brighter than the
blue of his eyes
fangs & claws
cruel words come easily
as jekyl
turns to hyde
& i am almost
almost
relieved
to see the one
he keeps
hidden
away
as much as it hurts
the pain is a
relief
compared to the
confusion.

after i wrote this (based on a text fight with dusty)…i began to wonder if this side of him is actually yet another of his chameleon colors. i mean, maybe he is channeling me when he becomes snarky like this? his interpretation of my behavior? is he showing his true colors or is he just copying my personality? like when he is like this, he calls me “dude.” that is totally me. i call him dude when i am frustrated with him.
and he is all bitchy at me.
recently, someone called me “charming,” and i let him know that he was the very first person to ever call me that.
he was.
no one calls me charming. i am too honest & too blunt. i don’t bother with filters. i am a “bitch” or “scary” by many assessments. however, i am a kind person. i do care deeply for others & will help anyone i can help & feel badly if i can’t. but i am not good at social niceties. i never have been and really don’t care to learn. though i am polite. i say “please” & “thank you….”
additionally, some of what he says feels like he is being fed lines from someone else. telling me not to use him as a punching bag when i call him on his bullshit. who told him to say that, i wonder.
does dusty in fact have a real personality or are they all borrowed?
i wonder.
but seeing this side of him does make me feel better about my decision to kick his ass out of my life. anyone who is capable of being a shit to me after all i have done for him…all those things that he pretends i never did, choosing to remember the times i stood up for myself & didn’t give him what he wanted…choosing to remember those times as my being unfair to him.

bleah.
whatever the fuck.
good riddance.

i did the illustration after i wrote this post. i really did NOT want to do another self-portrait of myself as a victim–suffering someone else’s bad behavior. instead i decided to celebrate my own bad behavior.

when i was just a girl

when i was just a girl
not yet a woman
i hung a sign on my wall
declaring
“i am destined
for greatness”
one day
a male friend
scoffed
“what? you’re going to marry
adam ant?”
i was
beyond
offended
(still am) as if! as if
a woman could only be great
through marriage
when i was still a girl
not quite a woman
i spent eight hours a day
writing
& writing
novels
first in longhand
then typed
it took about nine months
to birth one
when i was just a girl
not quite a woman
i was broken
already
broken by an
abused
childhood
an abandoned
childhood
i was broken
but
i was
still
whole
until one day
i discovered
the “greatness”
of men.

to say i was an awkward child would be an understatement. to say i was a strange child, also, understated.
needless to say, boys were not knocking my door down.
i was shy & dressed funny.
which was probably the best thing for me. i was safe from myself. however, once i figured out the whole boy-catching thing, things went downhill for me pretty fucking fast.
i let them tear me apart.
i gave them the best parts of me.
and i have been recovering ever since.

on the bright side–i am recovering.

tall dark & handsome

he came to me in a dream
ready to end
my misery
with talons
like razors
a creature from–
well…
nightmares
a feathered man
tall dark & handsome
my sure
demise
but to my credit
i fought
for my
wretched
life
even resorting to
my
feminine
wiles.

a little something different.
maybe too much halloween candy, but i had a vivid dream last night about a big blackbird-man who came to finish me off. except he was also sexy. i think i have a pretty conflicted view of men.
speaking of….
so who remembers clan of the cave bear? my brain often references the idea in it that ayla is guarded by her spirit animal, the cave bear who scarred her. she is thereby deemed to have too strong of an energy for most men to mate with her and make a child with her.
i think of the grizzly bear as one of my main spirit guides. i feel her energy in me & feel i am protected by her.
i have found that my strength makes dating tricky. which i think is weird…but it seems to be true.
until (at least) this point in my life i have chosen physically small men. feminine men. men who do not seem threatening to me…. yes, i chose them. if i wait to be chosen, it is a long wait. however, most of the men i choose then turn me upside down–& not in a good way. most of them seem threatened by me. most of them try to dominate & degrade me.
so i’m thinking maybe i should be looking for a romantic interest that has–at least–the grizzly bear spirit i have?
i dunno.
just brainstorming here. it’s not like i have suitors lining up at my door to choose from.

 

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.

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.

navel gazing

you look so hard
into
your own heart
using
other people’s eyes
are you lovable?
are you beautiful?
are you special?
are you good?
are you a good person?
do you deserve happiness?
so much time
energy
so much of your own
heart
but you never
stop
you never
look up
& out
to see what is in their
hearts
& to wonder
are they lovable?
special, beautiful, & good?
do they
deserve
your happiness?

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