pariah

i already suspect
everyone
hates me
yet when it is confirmed
that
someone
hates me
i spin out…
that familiar
downward
spiral
“they’re just jealous”
possibly
the only nice thing
my mom
said to me
her grade school pariah
am i a threat
i wonder
something to fear
or hate?
this makes more sense to me
than jealousy
but of course
odds are
someone has to love me…
following that
would suggest that someone
must hate me
&
if the whole world
can’t love
me
then
the whole world
can’t hate me
either.

trying to talk myself in off the ledge? i’m not sure this is working.

football season

he is like lucy
with the football
assuring me
he is totally
one hundred percent
here for me
everything
will be okay
so i trust him
i run forward
& the earth falls away
& the wind is knocked out of me
& i am flattened…again
as he lets me know
it’s my own fault
while he places the football in place
again
& tells me
i should believe in him.

i am so hoping that i have broken the pattern. that i am no longer going to run up & try to kick that football. that i am able to walk away and keep on walking.
the man is not my friend.
he is not my family.
i cannot pretend otherwise, or i will get the air knocked out of me
again.

no, you’re emo….

my heart is cold
& smells 
of rotting flesh
the turkey vultures
circle
sensing
my surrender
my heart is cold
& black
with defeat
it feels like a stone
in my chest
pulling me 
down
as i 
fall.

how was your mother’s day? 
why the fuck can’t i not sink into a terrible place on this day of mothers?
let’s not think too hard about it. let’s just have a drink and wait for the day to end.
i know it’s a hallmark holiday. i know it’s petty…but i can’t help but want to set fire to the father of my children and watch the burnt flesh fall off of him when i think about all he had to do was help the kids make me something/buy me something…some token…some little fucking whisper to say i am valued.
but no. impossible. totally impossible. even in this day & age where he likes to pretend he was baptized by dr. phil.
i know that on father’s day i will buy a rosemary plant (because he loves rosemary plants & killed the last one he stole from me) & put a ribbon on it & have the kids make cards & give it to him as if it were their idea….
and i imagine again the warmth that would come off of his flaming body….

i really don’t know if my kids value me or not. i really don’t. and maybe that’s another one of my shortcomings. another one of my flaws. maybe i fucked it all up. i mean, the two oldest are sixteen & fourteen and they can’t even be bothered to bring me something to plant? even after i told them where to go for it?

but i do like to pretend one day they will grow me a pot of marigolds and maybe bake a chocolate cake and say, “hey, thanks for being a good mom. thanks for sacrificing everything for us. we value you.”

ps. my kids did go & get me flowers to plant on the day after mother’s day…of course by then my mental collapse was complete.
my poor children.

gonna buy me a dog…

who held the door open
for him to walk
through
who was supposed to
keep me
safe
who can i blame
when i run towards him
instead of
away?

the dad is bringing my minions back to me tomorrow…with intent to stay & hunt mushrooms. i don’t want him here, but it is hard for me to turn him away.
so begins the inner turmoil that comes with every interaction with him. that weird mix of wanting to see him, being almost excited to see him, but also wanting to scream at him until my head explodes & then bury him in a shallow grave.
so i turned to my dog today and began berating her for not biting my ex. she adores him. it’s embarrassing how much she throws herself at him. so i lectured her until i was in tears.
then i began to wonder who i really was angry at. who taught the dog that my ex is not a threat?
and i wrote this.
it sounded so familiar i looked back to january where i first wrote this thought.
in january i attributed this open door policy for assholes to my inner child who feels the need to rescue others due to her own need to be rescued.
but on second thought, i don’t blame her for this reoccurring theme in my life.
someone should have protected her.
someone should have taught her to protect herself.
my birth mother did not.
now it falls on me to do it. i need to be the fierce beast here. i need growl, to bark at intruders. bare my teeth and threaten their security. i need to protect me from those who would destroy me rather than wanting to be with them.
it is embarrassing that i have to learn that…that it isn’t just instinct.

enough

i watched him fall down
a full flight of stairs once
& land on his feet
i was totally attracted
to how self-destructive
he was
that tended to be
my favorite part of people
the part i could
recognize

the part i could

understand

that wanting to erase yourself….
i took him home that night

that falling down drunk night
i lured him away
from the other girls
with their naughty reputations
“for his own good” i told myself
i lured him with promises of blowjobs
it was the second time 
& last time
we would have sex
for as much as i loved him
& obsessed over him
for all the years i spent following him
with my heart on my sleeve

it turns out
he wasn’t self-destructive enough

to love me back.

messed up

if i identify
as broken
if my narrative
is
what a mess
i am…
what then?

just trying to work the feelings out. that fucked up self-talk can really do a number on you.
i really don’t know what i would do without my being able to ink it out.
art therapy, y’all.

inner work

my inner work
is very important to me
i am willing to admit that now
i’m willing
to stand by that
now
some days
my inner work is all
i have
my only connection
to me…
i am important to me
i am willing
to admit that
now
unabashedly
i
matter.

y’all probably had it figured out that i am pretty serious about my inner work. meanwhile, i act like it’s just something to do…something i just happen to do.
but it is everything to me. it is my life support. my sanity. my grounding & my centering & my learning to believe in myself.
i don’t know why it takes me so long to take myself seriously. but i am now ready to stand up & fight for myself…and that feels pretty fucking good.

ps. i have noticed that my art journal is basically an adult coloring book that i draw the pictures for & then color in.

i am more powerful

i have started telling my kids that this year
is the year
my ship comes in
who knows
my third collection to be published
my novel
surely
finished
who knows what good fortune
might find us
at madness manor.

“i am more powerful” 9X12 ink on watercolor paper…$45

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.

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