this mighty trap

i don’t want to do this anymore
i don’t
what if
every life decision
i make
is just my setting myself up
for failure
i don’t want to do this
anymore
but i have built myself
this mighty
trap
& i don’t know¬† how to get out
& then i find myself thinking
well…there is that one way out…
you know
the one we’re not supposed
to talk
about?
& then i think
no.
but when i read
an obituary
i can’t help but think
lucky fucker

this was just about as low as i got this week. of course, there is no escaping my life. it’s not like i can drop the animals off at the humane society & my kids off at the orphanage & go live on the french riviera…
instead i have to do the hard work. you know, learn how to cope. learn how not to resort to being an asshole & then hating myself & hating my life.
yeah.
that.
i guess i need to do that.

ps. though i like to draw myself nude because it seems to portray how vulnerable i feel. i have this weird (catholic?) fear of drawing my pubic area. i was pleased with myself for fashioning a “fig leaf” of sorts in this self-portrait.
ha!

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unraveling me

i need this day
to blow itself
away
sad sings in my heart
as i wonder
where does the wonder
spilled from me
for the world to see
where does the wonder go?
is it looked after?
cared for…
nurtured?
these parts of me i share
does someone love them?
as i do?
or are they callously treated
roughly handled
piddled upon?
i wonder should my wonder suffer
is it best to sew up these wounds
stuff it all back in again
fester in silence?
or
do i keep to my journey
and continue to unravel
my mysteries?

jekyll & hyde

no one tells you
how hard it is
to be both a mom
& a real person
that those flaws
you have
as a real person
just become
as amplified as fuck
when you become
a mom
because a mom is
both more than a real person
& less

so a trifecta of mom journal page self-portraits today…but my demons are still not exorcised.
sigh.
i feel bad for my kids…but i wonder if someday they will feel bad for me.
i am trying. i really really am. some days go better. some days i am able to be a so-called real person.
other days…

this is the second one today that borrowed from a famous novel.
first i was gulliver…now i am dr. jekyll.
(or am i mr. hyde?)

stranded

you never wanted to do this
alone
you never wanted
to do this
alone
you feel so lost
so angry
& you suffer that pain
acutely
as you tell yourself to hold it together
(you don’t)
as you tell yourself to keep a happy face
(you don’t)
all you want to do
is break things
& scream
& scream
& scream
until your voice is raw
until your eyes are dry
because you have nothing
nothing
left to give
all you want to do is sink
sink
into depair
wallow
in despair
but somehow
somehow you have to
stay
afloat

more motherhood angst leaking from my head & onto my page.
yay! but, you know what? it keeps my head out of the oven.

misha pointed out that iggy doesn’t have a face in this on or in the previous one. i’m not sure why. subconscious–would you like to weigh in?
what? nothing?
iggy is a very challenging child. it doesn’t help that he is the one most like his father.
his father.
the reason for a lot of my angst.
he checked out the first time i got pregnant. he was no longer the center of my universe, and he turned from mr. perfect into mr. perfect asshole.
yet somehow i still had three more children with him.
and now i am raising them alone.
because he has just become more & more perfect
at being an asshole.

being a single mom sucks ass. it truly does. but living with dusty sucks bigger ass. so while i am living the lesser of two evils–i’m still pissed off about it.

no poetry

i am not a poet
these are not poems
it is just
that i have spilled
my angst
all over the page
vomited my emotions
with pen & brush.

this was my yesterday epiphany–expanded upon.
also!
i took a photo before i used my brush on it, because i wasn’t sure if i liked it better without shading & color.

nopoetry

but i think the color worked okay.

good news! i have been very angst-y & especially reflective with all the trauma i keep vomiting on myself. so that means i have 4 pages written in my journal that just need illustrating.
so we all have that to look forward to.

loss…lost

i was breastfeeding
my second son
when i got the call
that my big brother
was dead
…plane crash
he crashed his plane
i’d just gotten his christmas newsletter
“keep christ
in christmas”
& his devastation
over the election of obama
to the presidency…
i had been making fun of him
to one of my liberal sisters
earlier that evening…
just around the time
his plane crashed into an ohio suburb

i usually start my pages with words & finish with a drawing. this one i drew first, and then the words came.
tomorrow is my big brother’s birthday. he would have been 54. he died 9 years ago.

so cold…so dark

“so cold…so dark,” is what they others taught him to say.
and it’s funny to hear
a four year old loudly whispering
“so cold…so dark.”
it’s funny…in a creepy way
and we all laugh to hear him say it.
“so cold…so dark,” i whisper to myself.
it feels different coming out of my mouth.
like it dwells inside me
that cold
that dark
and i wonder
what kind of mother am i?