ribbons & curls

my insides
are all torn
to bits
a bloody battlefield
that used to be
my heart
or is that too
cliche
the mess of me
falling
apart
in ribbons
& curls
of
despair.

because my voice cannot be heard by the one i have tried & tried to talk to, i have started a work of fiction writing–no pictures. it is still forming in my head, but i have written the first paragraph. loosely based on the abusive relationship i am recovering from. i want to share it with people who might understand. also, i need to get it out of my head…and like i said, the person who needs to hear it the most, just won’t listen to it.

also, friendly reminder, there is a link up over yonder (with my pretty face on it) to other fiction pieces i have written & posted on medium.

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the empath vs. the narcissist

yes, i might still have some angst towards my ex-husband; why do you ask?

i like this one. i used a photo of a statue of conan the barbarian to model it after–which explains why my boobs are bigger than usual.

dusty is a sagittarius born in year of the dragon
i am a cancer born in year of the dog
whether you are into astrology or not, you can probably imagine that and know it is just a bad fucking mix.

dusty is way into being a dragon. i once drew a dragon for him…it was beautiful…but i forgot the wings & he was all pissy about it. i just realized i forgot the wings on this one as well. i don’t think it is an accident. i don’t think dusty has wings. he is decidedly stuck on the rocks.

wondering

wonder
wondering
feel…feeling
so overwhelmed
by what goes on inside me
trying to decipher
this
chaos
what is good
what to hold
onto
what is bad
what to let
go?

i have let go of dusty. again.
i have no desire to have the same argument with him…explaining my feelings until i am blue in the face & he responds by saying, “yes, but…” and asking me to explain them again in a different way.
i’m done.
i am so done.
i have no desire to talk to him, to see him.

of course…this weekend iggy turns ten…and i have already invited him down/agreed to his coming down. with his sister & his sister’s girlfriend and their child.

how am i going to do this?
how am i going to not ruin iggy’s birthday?

sigh.

when he turned aggressive in a text exchange today, i simply turned off my phone. i do not want to engage with him anymore. he is too good at drawing me into a fight. he exhausted all efforts to appeal to my empathy…so then he just turned accusatory. it’s my fault…it’s all my fault.
oh, i remember this game.

so, again, how do i not ruin iggy’s birthday?

pretty me

i have done a rough of page three, episode three…working title “homicidal mama.”
yay
look at me go.
it’s not easy killing off dusty. just yesterday i looked at old pictures of my dusty…and felt that same tug inside me. and today watching season two of “broadchurch” and seeing the relationship between lee & claire and knowing that like that fictitious relationship…dusty is a drug to me….
i have to kill him off.
i’m sure you understand, dear reader.

but i think all my art therapy is doing me some good. the minions are gone for the week and i’ve doused my hair with manic panic and have somehow tapped into younger me. so she & i are hanging out.
it’s all good.

smaller me

holy crap, i sure don’t look 48 in this selfie.
younger me can come & hang out more often…as long as she behaves…ish.

an open apology

to all the men i’ve loved before
& to the ones
i didn’t care all that much about
but played with anyway
to all the hearts
i crushed & twisted
pushed & pulled
like play-doh
to shape into something
that pleased me
but they never did
& i was quick to
toss
them
away
far
away
hurl, more like it
shot put champion
with the hearts of men
this is my open apology
to my many men
some hurt me back
some never got the chance
but
i wish
i had been better
more noble
more careful with those
possibly tender?
probably tender?
then bruised
hearts.

i feel like i’m doing a 12 step program. i thought of actually contacting my list–but holy crap there are way too many…and i only know where a handful of them are…and some of them i cannot have contact with for my own safety.
so!
here i am. realizing through old journals, conversations, and introspection, that i was a shitty girlfriend to a lot of lot of lot of guys.
crap.
when i did bother to remember this side of me, i always remembered her as kind of a warrior, kick-ass take no names, awesome bitch.
but
but but but…she wasn’t nice.
i wasn’t nice.
and i think a lot of it had to do with thinking that no one really cared about me so i couldn’t really hurt them.
but that’s no excuse. i shouldn’t have been such a shit–and often to guys who didn’t even deserve it.
i was a shitty girlfriend. i was a shitty wife. i’ve touched on this before, that i saw my mom as a weak victim…and i internalized that i needed to be the opposite. so i was. i broke hearts & abandoned relationships.
frequently.
so this is my open apology.
i have no idea if any of my exes even read this blog–and it might be more rude than nice to tag them all–plus, that would be a lot of tags…but if you do read this blog & did once get walked over or callously treated by me, i’m sorry i was a bitch.

mostly sorry.

(i recently commented to someone that i am better at understanding than forgiving…it occurs to me with this that i am better at knowing i should be sorry than actually being sorry….but i am mostly sorry)

through stories told

through stories told
memories shared
things said
outloud
that maybe you have never said
before?
out loud?
that sweet
sensitive
damaged
little victim you
all of a sudden
you remember her
& remember what an awful little
cunt
she could be
that sweet little sensitive you
broke hearts
& walked on the
pieces
like it was nothing
how have you never seen this before?
this side of you?
or did you just
conveniently
forget her?
file her away in the
cardboard box of your
psyche
labeled
“damaged”
&
“do not open”
“like ever”
“seriously, burn this box”

 

oh, i have super powers

my super power
is my honesty
my super power is my
crazy thick & out of bounds hair
my super power is my sense of humor
my super power is my
sense of
survival
my super power is my giant
enormous
hands & feet
my super power is my hope
my imagination
my incredible strength
my super power is my sense of wonder
my stubborness
my massive
tremendous
eyebrows
my super power is how i want to live
forever
how i can find a four leaf clover
the way the trees & clouds
talk to me
my super power
is
me…
(my secret weapon is my smile)