frankenstein’s monster

i thought my soul
was calloused over.
that they could do
no more
to hurt me.
i guess a mother’s
love
or lack
thereof
is
something
you
never
grow too old
to be affected by.

no, wait, this is my favorite self-portrait. it’s me, as frankenstein’s monster. i am really happy about this.
the motivation, not so much.

my parents plane takes off in 25 hours and 30 minutes. i have barely survived. my anxiety has developed its own anxiety.

but i have not killed them nor myself.
there is nothing like having the person who is supposed to love you unconditionally
the ONE person who is supposed to love you
no matter what
there is nothing like hearing her say to you
“you are a bad person”
or her calling you an “asshole”
& a “stupid-ass”
& an “interloper.”

it has been eye-opening. and healing in its own weird way to realize where all this low-self esteem comes from.
and, of course, tons of material for an upcoming tell-all memoir.

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midnight, my love

when i was a little girl
i had a big, black tomcat named
midnight
that farm cat
was my best friend
i bonded with him
in that special way a child
can lose her heart
to an animal

one day
my dad shot & killed midnight
an event he joked about
for years after
did he know
he killed a part of me
that day?
did he care?

funny how one event
in a young child’s life
can fuck up that person
for ever after
one event
can crush a child’s ability
to find love
to bond
to have normal relationships
with neither animal
nor person*

so my parents are here
& my mom may or may not
be senile
i honestly can not tell
what is senility
& what is a fucked-up
mind games
but she keeps telling stories
about the only cat she ever liked
& she keeps calling that cat
midnight
finally my sister corrected her
& told her that the cat
she is thinking of
was actually named “licorice”
(which is my mom’s favorite candy…
so how could she forget?)

and my mom replied,
“then who was midnight?”

& my whole world went red
as forty years of rage
poured out of me
& at my parents

i have only once before
gotten that angry
& that was when i found my ex-husband
making out with another woman
just one block from our new home
where we were
“starting over”
again

at least this time i
(hopefully)
won’t get a citation
for disorderly conduct….

for all my screaming
& profanity
for as much as it relieves
that certain pressure
on my soul
for all my screaming
they still didn’t hear me

but maybe i can start healing
anyway….

 

*i’m sure there are more than one…but this one is monumental

phoenix

talking about the anger
women reporting their abuse
& their intense anger
“why are they angry now,” he asks me,
“and not before?”
i answered,
“when you are in it
every day
when
every day
is abuse
you have to push it down
to survive.”
you have to
but once you let it out
that anger
once you let yourself
feel
& be
pissed off
you start to heal
& you also stop
being able
to tolerate
fucked
up
shit
…& that made me realize
why i was able to survive
my childhood
even though
today
even just a few hours
with my parents
is
pure
torture.

so much healing to do. so many epiphanies to be had.
when you are steeped once more in the madness that created you, you can either be swept away again…or you can learn from it.
i’m trying to learn from it.
i have a lot to learn.
many layers to peel.

tender hearted

my pain
is my own
just because
i show it to you
does not
make it yours
i love my
tender
fucked up
heart
&
i’m not good
at sharing

i’m pissed off at everything lately. everything.
whether it is my parent’s impending visit. the anniversary of my brother’s death. dealing with the passive aggressive assholery of my ex-husband. the fact that the minions cannot go a full two minutes without screaming and jumping on someone. or that the whole world is full of hateful hurtful people yet i remain…alone…alone with my hate & hurt.
all these things.
none of these things.
maybe i’m just an irritable asshole.

my self-portrait here seems to be a re-occurring theme. of course, van gogh did himself over & over & over…add a bowler, now with a pipe…
i like posing with my demons.
my lovely loving demons.

backwards

you know that social experiment
where you stand
backwards
in an elevator
facing toward everyone
instead of with everyone?
just for a reaction?
just to see
how deeply
it unnerves
them?
that’s me
i am the backward person
in the elevator
my whole life
& personality
is me the wrong way around
in an elevator
unnerving people
with none of us
really able to say
why

blow me

the wind
when it blows like this
howling
angry
a woman scorned
sets my teeth on edge
pulls a sadness
from deep inside me
dancing with my anxiety
the wind
it feels like a warning
like a lesson
i don’t want to learn

i live in the prairie lands of the midwest. winds start blowing here, and they just don’t stop. i usually love the wind. but sometimes it blows in a maniacal and high-pitched fervor. it blows in a way that i don’t remember the wind blowing when i was a kid. it feels wrong somehow. so when it blows like this, i just want to hide.
which is what i spent most of yesterday doing.
hiding from the wind.