caged bird drawing

clipping digital
coupons
entertaining children
with my drawing
skills
(at least someone
appreciates
them)
baking bread
washing dishes
cooking meals
wiping butts
dreaming
of
being
fabulous
while living life
in the body
of a low income
middle aged
single
mother
of four
i took the bait
without seeing the
trap
i made my nest
without seeing the
cage
now i sing my
song
but
nobody
hears
me.

more moping.
you would think, after thirteen years, i would have a hang of this motherhood thing.
but no.
i still look & wonder & cry that i am alone at it.
alone & broken.
maybe in a parallel universe i have a supportive husband who did not make my life hell for shits & giggles.
maybe in the parallel universe, being a mom does not feel like a trap & a cage.

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smoke & ashes

i don’t think
my lonely
could get any
bigger
i mean
where would it go
even?
that much
lonely?
it would fill
a hot air balloon
& float it
to the moon
i wish
i could
send my lonely
to the moon
root it out of
its nest
in my
heart
burn it
in a bonfire
on a dark solstice night
turn my lonely
to smoke & ash
& wait for the light
to
return.

with big feelings come art journal pages. as i learn how to celebrate my brother instead of mourning him…the other pain rises to the surface. the pain of a broken heart.
a broken marriage.
a man who could not be the person i needed him to be and instead became a monster set on destroying me.
devouring
me.
the lonely is so large right now as i don’t know how i will ever find love again.
but my heart still wants to look.

my hardest day

the anti-versary of his death
is my hardest day every year
but it’s not
just
the void of losing
a big brother
it also happens to be the birthday
of the one who
tore out my heart
leaving it to dry
& wither
memories blowing past
like the leaves
dead
&
brown
my brother died…
you know how there comes that time
when you need someone more than ever
& they
fail you?
betray
you?
instead of holding you
& saying everything will be alright
they
take the opportunity
to hurt you even more?
true colors…right?
in the difficult times
we see their true colors
my brother died
on my husband’s birthday
& my husband
never forgave me for that.
so this day
every year
i mourn
the loss of my brother
&
the loss of the greatest love of my life
who
as it turns out
wasn’t so great…
but try telling my heart that.

the two things are hopelessly
interwoven
my brother’s death
my husband’s betrayal
i miss both of them many days
of the year
but this is by far
my hardest day.

the self-portrait above was done for an art class. the assignment was to do a pair of self-portraits (i think there is an art term for two pieces that are meant to be displayed together–who can remind me what that is?)
both of the self-portraits echo back to the last post i did “my m” in that they celebrate my brother’s & my love of movies and
terminator to be exact. with a good dose of catholicism.
here is my ode to sarah connor:

ode to an ex-husband

you don’t think
you are
being 
a motherfucker
because
being a 
motherfucker
is the only
reality 
you know
but
trust me
as the sole
beneficiary 
of your
motherfuckery
you
are
being

mother
fucker.

this is an actual text i sent to my ex-husband. i do not have a smart phone–so i had to type it all out without the aid of a keyboard. that’s how dedicated i am to letting my ex-husband know what a motherfucker he is. 

heart of stone

maybe
you are just another
of my crimes
against
humanity
a trail of
broken men
behind me
(they were like that
when i found them
really)
pieces missing
malfunctioning parts
misfiring hearts
sure
other women
will say it is my fault
as they stroke
your hair
& stare
into your big blue eyes
comforting you
with kisses
exclaiming at how mean
i must be
how heartless & cruel
“good luck, ladies!”
i holler from
my cave on the hill
high above
that trail of broken men.

this is one that i started writing in my head as i lay in bed not wanting to leave the warm covers to walk to my journal in my “office” (aka the kitchen.) but–what is this? i finally put a notebook on the shelf next to my bed!
so this one was not lost to the crack in my head where loose mental post-its collect, unwritten, unread….
i’m glad i wrote it. i like it.
and i finally got to be a gorgon. it had been suggested by one reader before that my hair made me look gorgonian. and i have thought of that many times as my hair wiggled to life under my pen.
today i used a bamboo pen to bring my hair to life.
i like it.
so there is that.

this is based on my thinking about dusty & how the first time i broke up with him he started dating some girl & was sure to report to me that she said he was a great guy.
“you are a great guy,” i replied, meaning it–believing it was some fault of mine that i could not stand the idea of staying with him.
however, with each break up & each reunion & every moment more that i knew him, i meant it less & less.
today i no longer think that dusty is a great guy.
then i began to wonder if it is my fault his greatness diminished.
i mean, i did break up with him relentlessly over a period of like seven? eight years? maybe i warped him?
of course, it was not difficult to find reasons to run. it became way more difficult to find reasons to stay, reasons to risk my mental  & emotional health by staying with a manipulative narcissist.
i think over those years i saw more & more of who he was…really was. i got to know him better than anyone else ever. i got to see into the depths of his so-called soul….

yet all those girls/women to come will think they are the first to really really know him–& they will think i was just some awful & cold bitch to hurt him like i did.

they will want to love him truly which will then heal him and he will love them always.
poor things.

INKtober twenty-first

leftover love
stuck
in the corners
of my
heart
like those spiders
living in my window panes
i just try to pretend
it is normal
accepted
and not really happening
leftover love
do i warm it up?
or let it stay cold
pushed to the back
of the fridge
growing
crusty.

a poem about my housekeeping skills…or lack thereof?

after another close call with sliding back into my dusty knickers…i wrote a letter/list of all the reasons i divorced him. quite an impressive list if one is impressed by a person’s ability to sabotage a relationship…anyhoo, the letter helped me to see more clearly & to remember why i am divorced.
i wrote it because i realized–amidst an argument over the phone after i told him that our getting back together was a bad idea–i realized he has never taken any blame in my divorcing him.
he presents it as: she divorced me; she is bad & deserving of my treating her like crap.
when, in fact, i had many many many reasons for divorcing him & gave him chance after chance after chance before divorcing him.
ack.
like he thinks i just flipped a coin & decided to turn all of our lives upside down??
seriously…it appears as if that is how he views my decision to divorce him.
so i wrote a list.
a long list.
which helped me, at least. and–hopefully–will help him accept his role in our relationship crashing & burning.

now i prepare for another long, cold winter–alone (you know, except for the four kids, four goats, two cats, a puppy, dozens of ducks, chickens, geese, a turkey named hamlet, & a ewe named elsa.) at least i know how to keep myself busy.

strangely, i do feel relieved to let go (again!) of hope for a dusty & me revival tour.

always for now

always & forever
did not last
as long
as i thought it would
always
became sometimes
& then
seldom
before falling off the world & into
never….
forever started to
sputter out
after
what?
just a couple of years?
a brief
forever
waxing & waning
away to
nothing.
never mind.

do you think hallmark is hiring?

my second inking inspired by/copied off of the egon schiele’s “mother & child.”

this one looks more sinister…which suits the topic, i suppose. i titled it “hallmark moment.”

so ink brush is a bit more tricky to manipulate than ink pen. i accidentally gave myself a very waspish waistline.
i do not, nor have i ever had, a waspish waistline.
in fact, i remember very clearly when i was in high school gym class and the instructor was measuring our waists before a fitness & nutrition chapter of the class. she looked for awhile, trying to find mine. finally she declared me “high-waisted.” i think she just gave up on finding my waist.
when i was twenty, i was working as a nurse’s aide in a care facility. i had a shaved head at the time. a lot of the folks with alzheimer’s were confused about me. but one day, while helping one gentleman, i was pronounced to be, “a stout, young lad!” he said it as if i should take it as a compliment. i found it hysterical & have touted myself as such ever since.

basically, i have a very dense & solid frame. i always have & always will. even at my lightest weight while still being healthy, i was 145 pounds. it’s just genetics. you should see my dad.
on the plus side, i am pretty indestructible, physically anyway….

don’t be sweet

please don’t be sweet
i can’t
bear it
with your playful eyes
if you are sweet…
it is so much easier
to hate you
i only want to
hate you
i cannot afford to
love you
to fall back into that
easy rhythm
of us
that close to
destroyed me
so please
don’t be sweet
with your seductive eyes
so sweet that i
remember
all the good times
burying
the bad times
reaching out
to touch you
knowing
if i do
i will be caught in a cascade…
i’m begging you
please
don’t
be
sweet.

so i had an on-again/off-again relationship with the father of my children that lasted close to forever & almost killed me.
it took me so many times of trying to leave him…& so many years to recover from his influence on me.
he is emotionally abusive, manipulative, & narcissistic.
but, apparently, i love him?
what the fuck.
most days i would not admit that. most days i would have a clear & close hold on to all the bullshit he put me through in the years i have known him. a shield made of bad memories.
but i saw him on tuesday…
& he was all sweet & silly.
he was dressed so strangely. unorthodox. which, of course, caused me to find him attractive. i mean, he is attractive–physically. when i met him he was kind of awkward & goofy, but as he aged he became gorgeous. so when a gorgeous man dresses in an unorthodox way–it has kind of a stunning effect…at least on me.
crap.
so now i am trying to hold it together.
to not do anything
slippery.

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