dove soup II

i am being haunted
by single doves
one stood on the curvy road today
making me swerve to go around it
another
crashed into my window
at dusk
while i tried to relax
with my family
and there is always that one
always watching
perched on that telephone wire
always watching
these singletons
who have either lost
or not yet found
a mate
they have become an infestation
a taunting
making my cold heart
colder
provoking my contrary nature to say
“you know what?
i can stay single forever.
just watch me.”

doves mate for life.
a redneck ex of mine told me that in the context that now when he shoots one dove, he makes sure to kill its mate as well. that was the sort of kind-hearted soul he was. that was the kind of fucked up logic he wielded in life & in our relationship.
he also told me that no one should get married before they dated for two years. he then proposed to me after we had dated for two years, at the same time, confessing that he had cheated on me with five other women. god told him to tell me.
oh hey! this is a good easter story as i ended up meeting this jewel on an easter sunday when i left my sister’s house to avoid hanging out with my parents. i went out to a bar and two years later got proposed to by an asshole.
maybe he is the reason why i married the very next guy i dated after a month of dating….

totally sucks that whenever i see a lonely dove i think of him. totally sucks that i am constantly seeing lonely doves these days.
time for some dove soup.

dove soup

the dove sits on the telephone wire
watching me do yoga, poorly
like i was feeling out of sorts
& yoga only confirmed
how badly my mind & body
are aligned. how ungrounded
how uncentered i am
& the bird watches all of it
through my picture window…
usually a lone mourning dove
is a comfort
an echo of my own lonely heart
but today it feels like a taunting
a mockery
& all i want to do
is shoot the damn thing off of its
spy’s perch
& have dove soup for lunch.

one thousand cuts

just because what he does
isn’t the worst thing
he could do
just because it isn’t
completely
wrong
doesn’t make it
right
is death by a thousand cuts
any better
than being destroyed
all at
once?

more thoughts on the “little crimes” done by past boyfriends & not-my-boyfriends. i got some texts from mr. 2-to-tango (who apparently reads my blog) after each of the last two posts…but i did not read them. so!
my dreams have moved from oceans to smaller bodies of moving water. i am taking this as a good sign. like maybe i am getting some direction? direction would be nice.

don’t put that in your mouth (a cautionary tale)

you ever been with a guy…not really a boyfriend…just some guy & you’re messing around with him & maybe he’s just given you some pretty lackluster oral & now he expects you to return the favor but instead of asking he just starts pushing your head towards his crotch?
and you wish you could say, “hey! motherfucker, use your words. i’m a person, not a sex toy,” but instead you just play dumb until he gets all frustrated & pitches a fit like a demented toddler, muttering “it takes two to tango” reminding me of my psychotic school bus driver….
and is there anything scarier than naked adult male anger when all you want is to feel safe & valued? don’t you just want to go back in time to protect younger, dumber you? to kick those assholes in the balls & say, “who the fuck are you to treat me like this?”

this came pouring out of me at 2am this morning when i was trying to fall asleep. twenty-four years after it happened.
why did i contact him again? why did i still think of him as a “good guy” despite my most vivid memory of him being his yelling, “it takes two to tango!” when i didn’t want to suck his cock?
why do i convince myself–why do i second guess myself–why do i tell myself it’s no big deal when it is?
like when my boyfriend punched the wall so hard he broke his hand because i wasn’t having as much sex with him as he wanted?
at least he wasn’t punching me–right?
at least he wasn’t raping me–right?
so i tolerate it? i spin it in my head. say, “he didn’t mean it. he was just ___” fill in the blank with whatever will convince you to stay when you really really should go.

i had a dream that i was in a deranged & dangerous building that has been a regular dream location. however, in this dream the other night, i knew it was the last time i would be there. hopefully the building represented toxic men.

“good night”
8X10 inking on watercolor paper
$45

character study

(a personal observation)

life is like
menstral cramps
the pain comes
on a cycle
sometimes
it’s bearable
sometimes
it knocks you
on your ass
but it
recedes
it goes away
&
everything
is good
for
awhile.

i am working through some stuff that has been buried away for twenty-four years. i guess after getting all the childhood stuff examined & the major relationship stuff worked on, it is time to look at little injuries throughout my life that weren’t so little after all.

little tart

i miss little tart me
when my otherwise
insecure heart
was so bold & hopeful
looking for love
in all
all
the wrong places
sad enough at
twenty-two
i am not willing to revisit
at fifty-two
though
i do miss her
miss that bold
& hopeful
little tart
& do
imagine
some of her magic
must still live
on
inside
me.

this is a re-occurring thought i have been having. i was such a little tart when i was in my twenties. some might think i should be ashamed & keep that hidden…but fuck me that little tart was awesome. no shame. none.

spilled ink

last year i thought it was a bad thing
to have a hair trigger
on the drawbridge
to my heart
this year i am looking at it differently
i am trusting myself
to know
when
& when not
to pull the lever that will send you
sailing
away.

this inking was made last night in an effort to use spilled ink… i do like to try to keep my accidents happy.

“eve”
up top: “drawbridge”
9X12 inking on watercolor paper
$45 plust $5 shipping

a sort of madness

my core is a wet
soggy
mess
a newspaper forgotten
in the rain
as
dreams bring me echoes
of a time when i could have
clung
to him
as if he were my port
in the storm
a time when i was still
capable
of adoration
when this man
could invoke
a sort of madness in me
that felt
so
so fucking
good.

isn’t it a mindfuck that dreams can do this? pull you back in time to a different reality that you hoped would never end? and yet it did
so you wake up with such a heavy sad heart….
dreams of dusty…but it could also be dreams of the one before him who had my heart. just two men really who can claim that “prize” despite my having been with
so many more than just two….
so i wonder…will i ever feel that sort of madness again?
& if i don’t…is that a bad thing…or a good one?

song sung blue

these pieces are from a year ago
many art journal pages
lamenting my lonely heart
yet i somehow survived
& i will keep on
keeping on
from one valentine’s day
to the next.

up top: “song sung blue”
bottom left: “chances”
bottom right: “fear of success”

9X12 inking on watercolor paper
$45 plus $5 for shipping & handling

a fool’s game

i’m already ready
to jump
it would be a bad idea
to push me
don’t bet on me
the odds are
astronomical
i’m already ready
to run
don’t open any doors
i live comfortably with one foot
out
already
faith in me
is a fool’s
game.

art journal pages as i try to determine what stays in my hot air balloon & what to chuck out so i don’t crash. yesterday i was a ship…today i am blowing in the wind. fragile and full of hot air.
i can’t guess–day to day–what is going to happen in my head.
i’m okay with that…but how can i expect someone else to be?

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