fallen V

you always got
angel food cake
on your birthday
because
you were the
good
one
how is that right
you wondered
that the devil’s food
is so much
yummier
than the angel’s?
doesn’t really
encourage
so-called
goodness, does it?
& your goodness was
so totally
so-called
they labeled you
“good”
because
they
didn’t
know
what
else
to
call
you
you, in your quiet
contemplation
of the world
around
you.

i hate angel food cake. every year i got an angel food cake on my birthday because i was the “good” one & my irish twin–the one my mother preferred to me–got a cake that actually tasted good because she was the “bad” one. devil’s food.
ha!
i wasn’t good. i was just quiet. and deeply aware that my household was unstable & dangerous.
so i was quiet & appeared to behave…& i waited.

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fallen IV

like the rest
of them
you crawled into this world
through a woman
fully expecting
to crawl out again
through grave
you knew you were
different
with your imaginings
of your
stolen
wings
with your hearing
divine
voices
with your little
epiphanies
but all kids do that
right?
angels are wonderful
things
but you always felt
more at home
playing with
demons…
you never expected
that this was a
tell-tale sign
of your
true
nature.

i recently learned about an artist named eveyln de morgan (which is an awesome name.) she did some amazing work. i realized i
actually used her work once before, when i did myself as helen of troy.
this one here is inspired by another one of her paintings, clytie.
she did a lot of religious style works.
i might be borrowing from her a bit more during this series.

fallen III

you’ve always known
you were
different
you thought
maybe
an alien
or an angel
a changeling of some sort
surely
something
mythical
& you are
mythical
as fuck
a beast of many
faces
you are not who you
expected
you would
be
but!
with a grin
& a shrug
you accept this turn
of events.

i’ve always played around with my dark side. i’ve always recognized it & even celebrated it. but this is the first time i have embraced it by making it my identity.
it’s liberating in a way i did not expect.
i have always struggled to believe i was good after being raised by parents who were quick to let us know we were not–in their weird covert catholic way.
i try to be good, but the bad leaks out & terrorizes me, traumatizes me, presents itself as proof that i will never ever be a good person.
i think we all have a devil/demons/darkness inside.
& maybe the more we fight it…push it down…try to “control” it, the stronger it becomes. the more traumatizing to the part of us that believes in good.
but embracing it.
welcoming it
accepting it
this allows a person to be more complete and at peace with themselves.
a healing of sorts.

it’s a theory, and i’m testing it with my art journals.
buckle up, y’all
i have got pages & pages of this stuff.
i’m not sure what to call it…a serial free verse narrative? with pictures!

outside the box

i feel
stuck
in the ground
rooted
a tree that longs to run
a dandelion
watching her fluff
on the wind
so badly wanting
to be fluff
on the wind
i want to squat
in a church
or an abandoned warehouse
some place where i can ride my bike
from room
to room
or steal a paddle boat
and learn the river ways
i want to dig my own
hobbit house
go to bed
under the stars
because i haven’t built a roof
yet
i want to teach my kids
show this world
how to live
literally live
outside
the
box.

festering pot of rot

my words aren’t
making
sense
not even
to me
i feel like i am
shifting
moving
glitching
my thoughts are
disjointed
reluctant
maybe my brain is rotten
a festering
demented
pot of rot
but…my own special
demented
pot of rot….
strangely
i kinda like it
that way…
stumbling over my
words
keeps me honest
makes me look
deeper
discover
more.

i wrote this when i was struggling to find the right words for a few days. i think i have stumbled through and am blundering on with my art journal adventure. though the self-portrait for this page turned out not as i was expecting, & i am posting it even though i feel it speaks badly of me. but who am i if i don’t post my ugly for everyone to see?

i sent my short story collection, tangled together, to a potential publisher today. a crazy little punk rock press hellbent on challenging the system. it reminded me of me. so hopefully they don’t reject me
because
what would that say
about me?
(nothing new–it would say nothing new)

it felt good to send it off. i had to make a new to-do list to hang over my desk.
1. work on art for journal book
2. work on chasing ghosts
3. work on captain blonde beard
4. don’t forget moses jones

also! i am trying to get started on a series of maps. we will see how that goes. the idea is still evolving–percolating–in my festering demented pot of rot.

ps. it appears as if tumblr is not happy about my drawing my boobs so much–or maybe it’s my profanity. you think they could tell the difference between kiddie porn and self-expression. i suspect my account over there will soon be frozen. so, you know, #fucktumblr

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