other people’s love stories

don’t
tell me i’m
beautiful
i
won’t
believe you.

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of troy

i wish i had a face
that could launch
a thousand ships
or
rather
i wish my face could launch
a thousand ships
i wish wars
were fought
over me
paintings painted
sculptures sculpted
songs sung
to me
i wish someone
was
a mused with me
enough
to have me
hold center stage
in the story of their
life.

i know it’s selfish & vain…and i wouldn’t really want wars fought over me…not really really. maybe a tussle.
i always joked that i had kids so someone would love me best…at least for a little while. and, yes, i am sure they will write stories about me–you know, like mommy dearest….

sigh.

i only know one poem written about me or for me. it was called “sandwich eyes” and was written by someone i used to stalk. it’s okay. he liked that i stalked him & would actually seek me out if i stopped. he was a wonderful poet. one of the best. and it is a really nice poem…but he never loved me. he just enjoyed the attention of a crazy stalker chick.
goddammit, do you know how many musicians i have dated? nothing.
but
i keep reading all these fucking love poems & trying not to be bitter.
it’s hard not to be bitter.
so i guess i’m just supposed to accept that i am not the kind of person to inspire that kind of passion?
or i just haven’t met my homer….

cp11

another take on my being un-a-muse-d…from my 90s comic, confusion perfume.

i am who i am

i know who i am now
i am silly & sad
i am fierce & fantastic
i am passionate & magical
i am a fucking unicorn

i have been reading my journals from when i was in my twenties. it is different this time than from any time before when i have looked back, even a few months or a few moods, to see what i wrote.
even in the journal i am reading the younger me complains about previous entries–dismissing herself as melodramatic & dumb.
but not this time.
this time i find myself enjoying my journals, seeing my humor & my warmth, my passion and my ridiculous amount of hope.
thinking i was a pretty cool person.
huh.
i guess my self-portrait art journal project worked.
also, my exploration of my feelings for the long-ago boyfriend who captured my heart & never let it go again.
accepting all that. accepting myself warts & all. accepting my socially bizarre attachment to someone who is no longer in my life.
all of it.
it brought something to light for me.
it brought me to light.

i totally accept me
i completely love me
& i ridiculously celebrate me.