goodbye

it was as if the island did not want me to be there.
every sign an exit sign.
rain filling the tent
a sky clouding over as soon as we got to the beach
for a swim
crows crying out a warning every morning
relentless flies & pissy park rangers…
i wondered if it was an omen of bad things to come…
only to realize it was a letting go
like the end of the movie
when you have to set free the thing you love
have to chase off the thing you love.
the island was telling me to leave
to run free
& to not look back.

this has everything to do with dusty. i planned this vacation to madeline island with him. kind of a co-parent thing. i thought it would work out okay because things had been going more friendly between us.
but i really do not like being around him.
especially not for an entire camping trip.
we are so different in the ways we live our lives. the ways we see the world. the ways we parent….
it hurts me to be around him. i wish it did not…but it does. i am damaged a little every time i tolerate his bullshit. and i feel like i have to tolerate his bullshit in order to keep the peace.
…and i really really do not like tolerating bullshit.

it was totally his fault the tent flooded. i kept trying to nicely tell him the flaw in his thinking. the flaw that was causing the tent to turn into a leaky water bed…but he kept telling me how it was going to work. i had to wait it out, bailing out the tent more than once, before he would “let” me fix the problem (without any help from him.)

i once surmised of our relationship that if we were ever in a situation where we had to work together to survive–we just wouldn’t. we would be dead.

but i survived.
& the island made it clear to me that i need to let go & stop the nonsense.

the screaming game

who would have guessed
a morning
without yelling & screaming
would feel so luxurious?
who would have guessed
a day
without being abused
by midgets
would feel so
refreshing?
was motherhood
the model
for getting
information from spies?
the methodology
for breaking suspects?
i spent a childhood
hiding from
loud voices & harsh words
how did i never suspect
motherhood
would be much
the same?

(i know all there is to know about the screaming game….)
the minions are with their father so that i can recover.
i felt it, in my bones, the tired worn down feeling. i felt it, in my heart, the seething anger. they push every button they can find, & i collapse in a heap.
this is motherhood? this is my life?
how do i fix this? how do i change my household into a more peaceful place?
i do not accept that this is the way it has to be…yet i cannot figure out another way.

…to be continued…

change

i am more powerful
than i know
i am not as deeply flawed
as i tell myself
no matter
how long it takes
change
is
change.

i wrote the first part of this on the 25th of august. i finished it just a couple of days ago when i inked the illustration. i have been up & down in the meantime.
this is a pep talk, i think. as i struggle to think of myself as a good person.
and my thought today is that transformation can be as big as a volcano, but it can also be as subtle as a leaf falling.

so sexy

because there is nothing
sexier
than a woman
who is
perpetually
falling apart.

right? so sexy. the ex has been spending way too much time at my house due to being fired from the job that kept him occupied. sometimes i wonder…could i?
then i notice all the things about him that i just do not like & realize i would rather be alone than to be in another relationship with someone i am not able to respect or trust.
so that’s good. i am not so desperate for a relationship that i am willing to do something stupid.

broken spell

i don’t feel it
anymore
when he is near
the spell is broken
the electricity gone
i feel
affection
fondness
thinking only of him
as a friend
someone
to talk to
i don’t feel it anymore
that need
to be inside his skin
to have him touch me
in every
possible
way
…now
i feel whole
without him
the spell is broken.

my ex-husband lost his job recently due to covid politics. i offered him a place to stay since he won’t have the income to pay his rent & will most likely be looking for a job closer to me & the kids.
i worried that this proximity might spark something as it has been a little over a year since our last (final final final) breakup.
i mean, i am trying to be realistic. obviously, after 12 years of an on-again/off-again relationship, how can i be sure that there will not be another on-again?
but i feel no attraction to him. yay! even after he brought me whiskey & has been all sweet.

and just the other day i read through my pages for my future book (the invisible exhibitionist) as i put it on a thumb drive to mail to my publisher (are you ready for that, tara?)
so many writings of my torrid relationship with the dad…so so many.
which inspired me to draw this page in the style of my self-portrait period.

broken

when you grow up broken
how do you learn to feel
whole?
when you grow up without
love
how do you learn to be
loved?

this thought was prompted by watching the second season of the end of the f***ing world (a very good netflix show.)

of course it is a thought that made a lot of sense to me. i wonder…do i even know what love feels like? my tarot cards are telling me of relationships…of moving past being injured to value myself & allow myself to be valued. but what does that look like?
do you think i can draw a picture of that?

help me

help me, mother
help me, father
i cry to the parents
i never had
the parents who
never taught me
how to be
help me, cosmic mama
show me, cosmic da
be gentle
with me
hold me; soothe me
chase away my demons.

this might be my admitting that i do need parents. the parents i got were pretty bad. some moments of good…but all in all, a crapfest. is it too late for me to appeal to some universal parents? to admit that i can’t do this on my own?

i did find myself watching a woodpecker outside the window of my house as it ate ants off of a fruiting tree, thinking to myself, my dead dad led me here…to this house. thinking that maybe it was a gift from him, from wherever he is now. an apology? an attempt to not be a shitstorm of a dad?

maybe if i open myself up to the parenting that i have been refusing ever since i figured out my parents where not going to give me what i needed (sadly, i figured this out at a very young age)…maybe if i open myself up now to being parented? maybe….

tolerating the intolerable

one of my gifts
my dysfunctional super powers
one of the survival instincts
that kicked in
early
was an ability
to tolerate
intolerable
situations
breathe through
breath held
one day at a time
with the prize in sight
always
with my eyes on that prize
…escape
ignoring with all my might
the pain
surrounding
me
until the day
i would no longer
have to.

i spent my abusive childhood waiting for the day i could run away. i moved out of that house the week i graduated high school.
in every dysfunctional relationship, i plotted my escape. tolerating the intolerable until i could safely leave.
all the messed up places i have lived…i pretended it wasn’t so bad until the day i could move away.

motherhood is the only place i refuse to do that…
wait…or am i doing it? holding myself just together enough until the day my spawn finally fly away from me….
fuck…how can i even tell? it has become second nature.

inez malstom

being the embodiment of earthly punishments
used to bother
inez malstrom
but now she gets a slight high
just thinking of it
a case of the giggles even
sometimes
she thinks it would be nice
for once
to be an earthly reward…
but that is probably reserved for someone named
jillian.

i have written so many beginnings to stories. you never know. i might finish it…turn it into a comic, a short story, or even a novel, but for now it lives as a journal page.

i think i recently read in a book a quote by a poet to the effect of: i write instead of screaming
for the life of me i cannot access where i read this. i have been reading a lot of books lately.
nevertheless–this is true for me. my writing & my art are what i do to keep from losing my mind. so i take these dark little thoughts and try to make something beautiful (?) out of them…or at least something interesting.

rubble

how many times
will i be deeply
wounded
how many times
can i
be deeply wounded
before i
turn into a pile
of rubble
or maybe i will
become
that meme worthy vase
that grows stronger
with each break
& each
repair.

i do not have internet at my house & was unable to google what that vase is called.
now, upon googling it, i find it is actually a bowl & is called the art of precious scars: kintsugi
the art of precious scars
my scars are precious…to me…& apparently i like to show them off to you….

okay. so speaking of my precious scars scars & how i express my wounds through art & writing….
i need to figure out how to make money or how to attract patrons to my work aka promote myself (i’m sure i’m not the only one)
ack!
i am running out of savings. my house still needs a heating system. & i loathe the idea of just getting a “job.” i tend to wither away working in most environments (i am a fucking delicate flower, y’all)
i do not need luxuries–i do not own a tv. internet. smart phone. lawn mower. refrigerator. washer. dryer. or a number of other “luxuries.”
i am totally okay with not making a lot of money…but i do need some income. you know, for like heat & food?
so how do i make money without compromising myself…&/or how do i become more (shudder) marketable?

feel free to talk amongst yourselves….

(if you read yesterday’s post, i referenced my spilling of blue ink…this is the one i was working on while holding an open jar of blue ink…oops)

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑