mosaic

peeling away
my
layers
seeing what i can find
underneath
to fuck
around
with
exposing my
own pain
they say never to pull away
the scab
never to expose the tender pink
but i find it is
healing
piecing together
the jagged leavings
years
of neglect
years
of abuse
i am a mosaic
of the bits of me
that
survived.

once again i found inspiration with my expressive figure drawing book. of course the figure i borrowed from was sitting very elegantly & when i tried to copy it, i ended up looking awkwardly sprawled–which is pretty accurate for my appearance. 

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where’s my ass?

in a valiant effort to ignore the fucking heartache i am suffering right now, i am trying to update some of my pages so they don’t look like utter crap…right now i am working on my page of comics i have started…but not finished.
(if you want to volunteer any web-building skills? i can pay in inkings! or duck eggs!)
so i’m scanning in some old comics when–i realize i am missing comics! hard copies…yes, my filing system would indicate i am a genius per all those “you are a genius if” articles that i suspect are designed just to make those of us who have a tendency for absentmindedness feel better…however, it makes it impossible for me to find things.
i always put things in a safe & obvious place, and then promptly forget where they are.

so i’m in the process of tearing my house apart (aka: cleaning) to try & find said comics. so far, no good.

meanwhile….

man, i miss making comics.

this comic is one i started writing as i became increasingly disillusioned with living in a co-op. if you ask me, it is brilliant. of course, i never finished it…yet.

the scars we wear

this is a poem i wrote some time back. i found it in a file i had titled “one up on sylvia plath; i have an electric oven.” the image is another ink brush on canvas.

The literati mafia

the scars we wear make us
interesting
the scars we wear make us
devastating
the scars we wear do not heal
when we need them most
to heal
i wear my scars proudly
i wear my scars with profound misery
i glorify my scars
i fail to hide my scars
mostly
i joke about my scars
until someone is cruel to me,
knowing or not knowing
sticking fingers deep into the tender scar
twisting, prodding…
but most painful of all…
walking away from me
from my scars
look at me though!
aren’t my scars pretty?
don’t they make me charming & unique
don’t they even make me…beautiful?
in a way?
how can you leave me?
look at me now…
covering my scars
wallowing
weeping
until a light breaks
& i can see your scars
how did i never notice your scars?
scars i had poked & prodded
&
worst…

View original post 35 more words

don’t be sweet

please don’t be sweet
i can’t
bear it
with your playful eyes
if you are sweet…
it is so much easier
to hate you
i only want to
hate you
i cannot afford to
love you
to fall back into that
easy rhythm
of us
that close to
destroyed me
so please
don’t be sweet
with your seductive eyes
so sweet that i
remember
all the good times
burying
the bad times
reaching out
to touch you
knowing
if i do
i will be caught in a cascade…
i’m begging you
please
don’t
be
sweet.

so i had an on-again/off-again relationship with the father of my children that lasted close to forever & almost killed me.
it took me so many times of trying to leave him…& so many years to recover from his influence on me.
he is emotionally abusive, manipulative, & narcissistic.
but, apparently, i love him?
what the fuck.
most days i would not admit that. most days i would have a clear & close hold on to all the bullshit he put me through in the years i have known him. a shield made of bad memories.
but i saw him on tuesday…
& he was all sweet & silly.
he was dressed so strangely. unorthodox. which, of course, caused me to find him attractive. i mean, he is attractive–physically. when i met him he was kind of awkward & goofy, but as he aged he became gorgeous. so when a gorgeous man dresses in an unorthodox way–it has kind of a stunning effect…at least on me.
crap.
so now i am trying to hold it together.
to not do anything
slippery.

down to earth

i am not safe
i am not easy
however
i am down to earth
i am right down to the
molten rock
lava in my veins
i am the hurricanes
on the sea
i am the tornadoes
on the plains
i am the rain that falls
to create life
i am the moon
waxing & waning
& pulling the tides
to me
i am alive
so
no
i am  not safe
i am not easy
& in my experience
i have found that nothing
nothing
worth having
ever is.

note to all you well-meaning men–if you aren’t interested, just say, “no thank you.” don’t make excuses. don’t prolong the inevitable. don’t rationalize & make nice. just fucking say, “no thank you.”
if there is need for further explanation, we will ask for it.
sigh.
i told guy to “be safe” after he pleaded “ptsd” and “not being that the kind of person to be sponateous” and “having too many responsibilities” to have a rendezvous with me.
first off, raise your hand if you don’t have ptsd.
fuck.
my ptsd has ptsd.
also, i have severe social anxiety.
yet i still reached out to him because i feel that the day i let my fears dictate how i live…i am no longer alive.
and who doesn’t have responsibilities? my whole life is responsibilities…which is exactly why i, for one, was dying to do something spontaneous.
i texted him that spontaneity is good for the soul.
he channeled somebody’s super fuddy-duddy father to text me back about not being able to do that for this & that reason.
why didn’t he just say, “no thank you” from the get-go? i am honestly wondering. this is not a rhetorical question of mine. i would ask him, but he shuts down communication with me pretty good with his fuddy-duddy father voice. i’m all like, “yes sir,” as i scamper away to look around for someone else to play with.
bleah.
so i told guy to “be safe.” i was being snarky, but thanks to text messaging ambiguity, he has no way of knowing that. (unless he reads my blog…but i don’t think he is that invested considering he turned down a booty call thinly veiled as an invite to a h.s. reunion….)
he said, “you too.”
and that inspired this page.

embracing my grizzly heart

my grizzy heart
does not want to be
a dancing bear
in your circus
…i’m not proud…nor am i ashamed
…of how many men…i’ve made cry
i come to you
wild
not asking you
…to tame me
…to cage me
i come to you
wild
not wanting you
…to curl up in a ball
…or run away
i come to you wild
because
it is who i am
walk with me
wrestle with me
adventure with me
&
dance
with
me.

i am no longer apologizing for who i am. i am embracing myself. i used to have a reoccurring dream about being hunted by a grizzly bear who never actually hurt me. one day i realized that the grizzly bear represented a part of me that i was afraid of. after i realized that, i stopped having the dream.
i have continued to struggle with the grizzly bear inside of me. with little voices telling me how i am supposed to be. what the world expects of me. and when i try to meet those invisible expectations…part of me always dies.
in relationships i often find myself with either people who want to conquer my inner grizzly, or people who see the grizzly and just get the fuck out of there.

part of my healing is my embracing my grizzly.
bear hugs might be scary…but they are so totally worth it.

storm bringer

nature is chaos
we
are
chaos
look at how
they try to control
with their straight rows
& neatly trimmed lawns
denying the
wild
inside
what happens
when you
put
chaos
in a bottle
what
happens
when you try to
hide
your
wild?