feel like crying

i wrote this journal page a few days ago
today
there is no fight left in me
(but
there probably is)
just feeling disillusioned with one half
of the population–
you know who you are
you motherfuckers–
i will always be alone
if y’all continue
to be
assholes.

highlights from my patreon page:

peeling the onion

what if
my overwhelming desire to be out
of that
relationship
by any means necessary
was not a reflection
on my
ability
to commit…
some sort of self-sabotage…
no, not at all
in fact
a survival instinct
what if
i knew he was wrong
wrong for me
wrong to me
even though on the surface he was
mr. right
what if
my escapist tendencies are all
the only thing
that keeps me from falling
into
the
abyss
of a relationship with a narcissist
not a bad thing
not at all
not something to punish myself for
20 years later
but!
something to celebrate
i
survived.

i’m finding layers, y’all. all kinds of layers. things are not just black & white, good or bad…there is all kinds of stuff going on in the layers.
my energy is shifting.
it’s kinda pretty awesome & i feel a giddy feeling about it. so giddy.

this is a thought i had about a person–many many posts on him. we were together and he said he was my true love and all i wanted to do was run and i did run a couple of times but i tried so hard to make it work and all i wanted was out.
then he left me for someone else. in a pretty fucking cruel way.
and i spent too much of my life thinking i did something wrong & fucked my entire life up by not being able to love him the way i thought i should have loved him.
then, i realized, though he did it a bit differently, he was pretty much the same as all the other charming assholes that my gut said, “RUN!!” about.

funny that instinct. not always a bad thing, running away.

the illustration is based on an egon schiele sketch.

my own

you have your
issues
i have mine
one of which
is my habit
of thinking of exes
as that favorite worn-in
pair of jeans
the work
already done &
you know they fit (ish)
when
in fact
my exes are more like
the broken coffee
grinders
lining that shelf
in a forgotten cabinet
where i stashed them
wondering
if i could one day
fix them
or
at the very least
figure out
the appropriate way
to recycle
them.

this is written in response to those who would be quick to judge my collection of exes and my mixed feelings about them.
it’s my issue.
my own.
i’ll sort it out. don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.

again, my hair totally looked like this when i got up this morning. it’s colored fuschia right now, and i had it ink a hair band while it was wet–and then slept on it. i should have taken a picture. it was glorious.

i’m a fucking flower. a beautiful fucking blooming flower.

boxcar willy

i have found
i can start a poem
about one of them
&
end the same
poem
on notes of an
other
i have found
i can start crying
over one of them
&
then forget
which one
i am crying
about
maybe
that long
train of men
is just the same damn
boxcar
going past
going past
going past
while i stand
stuck
at the
crossroad.

this has happened a lot as i have let go of the notion that seymour was any different than dusty.
now i get them confused.
i feel the same sense of loss…the same frustration…the same sense of abandonment…the same anger towards the both of them.
i have noticed patterns in the men i end up with. but now i am beginning to suspect it is just the same guy, going out the door, putting on a hat & fake mustache, and coming back in.
or–at least–that’s what it feels like.

tall dark & handsome

he came to me in a dream
ready to end
my misery
with talons
like razors
a creature from–
well…
nightmares
a feathered man
tall dark & handsome
my sure
demise
but to my credit
i fought
for my
wretched
life
even resorting to
my
feminine
wiles.

a little something different.
maybe too much halloween candy, but i had a vivid dream last night about a big blackbird-man who came to finish me off. except he was also sexy. i think i have a pretty conflicted view of men.
speaking of….
so who remembersĀ clan of the cave bear? my brain often references the idea in it that ayla is guarded by her spirit animal, the cave bear who scarred her. she is thereby deemed to have too strong of an energy for most men to mate with her and make a child with her.
i think of the grizzly bear as one of my main spirit guides. i feel her energy in me & feel i am protected by her.
i have found that my strength makes dating tricky. which i think is weird…but it seems to be true.
until (at least) this point in my life i have chosen physically small men. feminine men. men who do not seem threatening to me…. yes, i chose them. if i wait to be chosen, it is a long wait. however, most of the men i choose then turn me upside down–& not in a good way. most of them seem threatened by me. most of them try to dominate & degrade me.
so i’m thinking maybe i should be looking for a romantic interest that has–at least–the grizzly bear spirit i have?
i dunno.
just brainstorming here. it’s not like i have suitors lining up at my door to choose from.

 

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 amĀ  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.

the hunt

when i was in my twenties
i would have chased you
like a wolf pack
on a caribou
but…
you know…
in a sexy way
except
i’m not sure i’ve ever been
sexy
mostly maybe
aggressive?
that’s what they called
girls like me
…& not in the good way
now
now i am a tired wolf
a timid wolf
gun shy
& a bit more leary
before i give chase…
&
my chase
is more of an amble
like…maybe i’ll catch up…
if you trip?
or
maybe you could chase
me?
before i head on back
to my cave.

seriously. i was relentless when i was younger. i chased, and they ran. i hunted boys for sport.
but those days are long over.
i really don’t want to chase boys anymore. i don’t want to be chased either. i want something mutual and perfect. right? but does that ever happen?
meanwhile,
i also want to be a mongolian falconer. that just sounds like a much better way to live. i wonder what romance is like in mongolia.

the colors kind of got away from me in this one. this might just be the most color i’ve used in an inking? maybe? it’s a bit over the top. but that’s what came out of me tonight.

random thoughts

i am not on facebook or twitter anymore because i always feel i am spitting into an ocean… (though i did just find out that my facebook accounts have remained up despite my deactivating them last spring. i deactivated again…but if someone sees they are still up, please let me know.)

i have random thoughts throughout the day.
i am single & rural & in the company of children.
if these random thoughts are not “art journal worthy” they just waft away with the wind….

like…
“i think i’m just going to have another beer & be sad.”
now i can’t remember any other random thoughts…maybe because of the one beer i did have.
but here’s a hypothetical for y’all. say a super cute, very cool guy contacted you via okcupid. he was what you were advertising for: an artist farmer.
so he contacts you & you message back & forth & seem to have a lot in common & possibly some chemistry….. then he gives you his contact information (website, phone number, & instagram) & he deactivates his okcupid account.
so you go to his website & you message him.
& wait
& wait
& he messages back that he is very busy but thinks your artwork is great & smiley face.
& that is the last you hear from him

is that it? is it over? i am not great with relationships (what? no!) and i am a bit socially retarded (impossible!)
crap.
that was it, wasn’t it? something didn’t click after all? maybe i’m too crazy? or i have four kids? or he found the perfect woman for him in between messages to me?

this is impossible. dating is for sadists…& the masochists who love them.
i am going to have that second beer.
fuck it all anyway.

ps. i went outside to put away goats & ducks & chickens & geese & hamlet the turkey and now i feel a bit less morose…but i still might have beer & watch a tragically romantic movie.

pss. does anyone else get a little sad when they post something they think is smashing & it gets lukewarm response?

who do you think you are?

stand up for yourself
so i can push you over
knock you down
think better of yourself
but no–not so much
what? you think
you’re better than me?
hold your head high
there. that makes it easier
for me to punch you
when you least expect it
why do girls like you
always date assholes
instead of nice guys
like me?

because….
with an asshole, at least
you know know what you’re
in for….

i got expressive figure drawing by bill buchman. i regret i never took a figure drawing class. i mean, i know the basics…but i need a lot more work. a class would have been fun. so i got this book. i haven’t read it yet, but i did do a self-portrait using the sketch on the front of the book after writing this poem.
the poem is inspired by lots of things…mostly by my own experiences with men feeling simultaneously attracted to & threatened by my strengths, my independence, & all those things about me i won’t apologize for.
i have a profile up over on okcupid–to basically just meet people & have conversations…maybe build some bridges…and now more than one guy has seen my profile as a challenge?

to you fuckers who think i’m some kind of challenge, something for you to conquer–fuck the fuck off.

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑