song sung blue

getting drunk
& singing along
with neil diamond
at the top
of my lungs
& crying
with all the grief
of my
lonely
heart
who knew i had
tied up
so
much
pain
into song lyrics
a lifetime
of singing along
with neil diamond songs
leaves my
lonely heart raw.

first off–my scanner is broken? so i had to use my ipad to snap a version of this art journal page for y’all. i am trying all my tried & true methods–pleading with it…smacking it…but it is unresponsive. time to re-think my approach to cooperation with technology?

also, i have learned through astrology memes that it is not at all uncommon for cancers to sing along with sad songs when they are sad.
turns out i’m not that special after all.


my stigmata is showing

boxcutter to the jugular
i joke
it’s a good name
for a punk rock band
but
inside
i find comfort
in the thought
boxcutter
to the jugular
what the fuck
is wrong
with me
that i can erupt
into this
pus-filled mountain
of pain?

i tried to draw a peaceful illustration to balance this one out, but she ended up developing stigmata.
so, you all have figured out by now, i spend a fuck load lot of time thinking about things. especially things about myself.
here is my thought in response to this post…people think anger is a bad thing…they think suicidal thoughts are dangerous…they frown at emotions, etc.
but what if these things are actually normal & to some extent healthy? violent action & follow through on suicidal or homicidal thoughts are bad–yes. however, what if you use your anger to resolve internal & external issues? what if you acknowledge those violent thoughts & then just let them go?
i know that as soon as i wrote this post, i started to feel better.
tomorrow’s post will address some thoughts on emotion. as i was trying to think of a title for it, i realized i could not think of a reference to emotions that was positive.
why are we so negative about emotions?
why do we try so hard to control them–in ourselves & in others?

the abyss of me

with hopes of renovating
with hopes of cleaning this place up
& inviting someone in
i cleared away
the debris
only to reveal
the extent
of the damage
a crack
to my very core
crap
i don’t know if i’m
habitable
after all
who could live here?
who could love here?
like
“hey–come on in
have a cup
of tea
just mind you don’t
fall into
the abyss of me.”

yup. more reactions to trying to open myself up to the possibility of a relationship should the occasion arise….
sigh.
two steps forward. two steps back.
just dancing by myself, y’all…nothing to see here.

drawbridge up

my drawbridge
has a hair trigger
i slowly lower it
in a moment of optimism
but
set one foot on it
just one little toe
&
pow!
the fear
the intense fear
of letting myself
be
vulnerable
sends the sucker
sky high
& rockets any chance
of a relationship
all the way
to the
moon.

here it is. here is my unbridled optimism about relationships coming to an unceremonious end.
i was totally slow stalking this dude…& then he waved at me.
and then he tried to talk to me.
well, fuck. i wasn’t ready for that….
i’m not exaggerating when i call myself feral or socially retarded. and then figure in almost two decades with my mind-fucking ex-husband….
i’m going to retreat to my hidey hole for a little while.

these walls were made for breaking

i have had a block
against relationships
for as long
as i can
remember
it never stopped me
from loving
or being
in a relationship
but did
help me to leave easily
to disconnect easily
when i found myself
compromised
conflicted
abused
now i am figuring out
how to save
myself
maybe now
i can let go
of that part of me
& be stronger
for it?

my text of the written verse is altered to show some hesitation & less confidence about my moving forward with breaking these fucking walls down.
& the illustration shows some of the angst i have been feeling lately.
so much angst.
so much.

let the sun shine in

i was happily tucked away
in my dark
dark
corner…
was i though?
was i
happy?
(no one puts
baby
in a corner)
i totally thought
i belonged
in that
corner
i thought i
belonged
in a shoebox
with holes
punched
in the lid
to let in
a little light…
but
what if that is not
enough
what if that little taste
of light
leaves me hungry
for more?

so it happens that i write down my thoughts as they come through me–as i need to vomit out what i am feeling.
then i go back & illustrate on a different day…during, very possibly, a different mood.
so my words can sound hopeful…while my illustration looks positively disturbed. or vice versa.

mama belly

it’s the mama center
of my body
is that
my problem?
am i conflicted
so very
conflicted
by motherhood?
that all those
ugly feelings
have found a place
in my
mama belly
so deep
in there
that even the most
adamant
yoga workout
cannot
root it out?

more on my body image issues. i cannot not wonder if my aversion to my stomach fat has something to do with my struggles to be a mom.
plus, it’s a genetic trait from my own mother.
so there is that.
bleah.
but, i am working on working it all out. trying to learn to love my body & believe that someone else could love it as well.

autumn madonna

i think more people
will benefit
from my brilliant smile
than will
from said smile
being covered.

i think a lot…i think a lot about how we, as primates, are possibly doing damage by not seeing faces of friends & strangers. a lot is communicated through the face. i have been binge watching lie to me, a show about how much is communicated through expression. and my being an adult child of an abusive household–i learned to read faces rather than listen to words. so how the fuck is all of this affecting us, really?
something to think (lay awake at night & obsess) about….
what is it they used to say about how you need so many positive experiences to negate those negative ones? how can i make your day better after all the stress, if you won’t let me show you my smile???
crap.

body image II

my body
is strong
i have taken care
to insure that…
my body
is able
i am ever so
thankful
for that…
my body
is beautiful
in its own
way.

part two to the post about body image. a bad day/a good day version of my self-esteem. this day i feel more warrior & less woeful….
or am i just trying to convince myself?
there are more journal pages to come. more in-depth look at why i feel this way…other than the obvious social/cultural pressures to always look perfect (which you would not be surprised to learn have never really affected me)

body image

i hate my body
i know
i’m not supposed
to hate my body
i’m supposed to
embrace
me
celebrate
me
lumps & bumps & all
but instead
i want to take a knife
& slice
off
parts of me
genetics & motherhood & age
have conspired
against me
&
left me
this blobby
mess.

this one is a pesky demon. when i was younger and my jeans stopped fitting, i just ate less & exercised more. voila!
now, after four pregnancies
& right into perimenopause….
crap.
i feel betrayed by my body.
add on stress and too many years with an emotionally abusive motherfucker and sometimes i look in the mirror and am so fucking disturbed by what i see….

demons to wrestle, y’all.

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