that last pregnancy

you didn’t love me
for that last pregnancy
for that last seed you planted in me
you didn’t love me
for a year & more after he was born
you didn’t love me
until i let you go
then
only then
you returned to me
like a no longer dormant venereal disease
hellbent on a rampage
love
some warped thing
that doesn’t even make sense
anymore.

i don’t think i have had good examples of “love” in my life. with my folks it was fucking or fighting. with my exes it would be crazy passion followed by extreme rejection…taking turns on the passion & rejection until one of us gave up for good. i am not sure i even know what love is supposed to look like. or how to do it.
i have to remind myself of these things, even if it is painful, because i do not want to get stuck in another fucked up relationship.

but would i even recognize a healthy relationship?

always

i’ve always loved the wrong men
giving myself away too easily
now i wait (im)patiently
for a true love that i am pretty sure
i will never find.

with babies’ birthdays to remind me of abuses past, i found myself examining my bruised & broken heart once again. my ex was not an easy man to become a parent with. i often felt like he was punishing me for becoming a mom.

from my crow’s nest

it took him years
to pull apart
the fabric of my joy
i guess its a credit to me
that the cloth was strong enough
to hold my joy
through so much sorrow
i must be like a crow
stowing away
bits of glitter
& strands of sparkle
weaving them into a nest
to hold my joy safe from all the hard stones
of pain
& isolation
some strange crow
in a fantastic nest…
now an older me
a wiser me
is tasked with collecting my joy
back to me
once more
rebuild the nest
reweave the cloth.

my ex is in my thoughts a lot with two of our children having birthdays in october. i am trying to give myself credit for surviving him. i did survive him after all.
also! in an attempt to value myself, i have decided to start submitting poems, stories, & art to magazines & whatnot. i haven’t actually done it yet, but i do have a list of possible periodicals to pester.
once upon a time i had the hoo-ha to send out novels & novels to publishers…back when you had to supply an SASE with every mailed manuscript. it’s been awhile since i have had the backbone to put myself in the line of fire for rejections…. but, i am working on it.

ps. misha suggested that this was an inking of the sun & the moon 🙂

unfinished

i grew up in a house
that was never
finished
a house that was never
whole
the house was built
before i was born
but remained
always
unfinished
incomplete
through my entire life there
after i left
they built a sunroom
remodeled the prison cell style
bathroom
carpeted
the basement
but still left the house
unfinished
incomplete
i cannot imagine
the house i grew up in
as ever finished
but as i look around the unfinished
house
i live in now
i can clearly see it whole
if not
finished.

so how much did it affect me to grow up in a house that was never finished? was it a reflection on my birth family? my parents?
it kind of drove me crazy. two large rooms in the house just became a parking garage for crap. they could have been finished. they just never were.
what does this say?
now i have my madness manor which has missing floor. missing walls…. & i wonder, am i just socialized now to accept an unfinished house…or did i buy an unfinished house so i could finally finish the unfinished part of me?
does any of this make sense?
(it totally does to me)

this is the last page of my art journal started on april 6th of this year. while i was trying to ink my monarch woman, i watched a monarch butterfly flit around the flowers in my yard. seemed kismit at the time 🙂

eight years…

wordpress just let me know it’s my eight year anniversary
whoa
how my art
my writing
& my way of viewing myself
the world
& relationships
has changed in eight years…
maybe not anything earth shattering
but
everything
has gotten a bit more proportional at least

this is a character from a story i played around with eight years ago in an art class. a story i still hope to finish developing one day.
eight years ago i was about to give birth to my fourth & final child. i was in an awful & emotionally abusive relationship with the dad. eight years ago i was attending art classes at uw and had just spawned moses jones. eight years ago i was in a lot of pain.
i somehow survived.
now i love & adore my four little monsters even when they are driving me mad. i no longer go to the dark dark places i went to back then–or at least i can still see the light when the dark decends. i can successfully ward off the wooings of the dad (who just this past weekend tried his hand at seducing me again.) i can suffer through the loneliness knowing i am who i am & am not going to accept anything less. i am working on my third publication. i am (slowly) selling art. i am working on a novel while editing two other books i wrote years ago to see if they are publishable….
and! i have my madness manor & my breathtaking view of the hills around me. i have a home–in more sense than one.
i have found my home.

more comic doodles

titled: notes from the motherhood

i’ve begun to fantasize about billy bob thornton

billy bob: these children giving you a hard time, ma’am?
i can take care of them for you….

my thinking: i’m not sure what he means by “take care of”
but at this point i’m ready to roll those dice.it has been a hard time at madness manor while children’s nastiness runs at full speed. i am not sure how many of them wished me dead yesterday. i wonder if those parents who spank & do worse are actually doing the right thing because being a kind & affectionate mom seems to be failing miserably? will they grow up to be nice adults despite being assholes as kids? i was physically & emotionally abused as a child–which prevented me from being an asshole–but now i am a hot mess of a grown up. will it work opposite for my kids?
these are the things i wonder as they scream horrible things merely because they did not get what they wanted….
to beat or not to beat my kids?
i do not have the stomach to be an abusive parent…but i can write comics!

obviously i need to look at what billy bob thornton actually looks like. i plan to practice that with some google pics….
meanwhile, i did doodle some pictures of nasty little children
& one doodle of one of my actual children, but not looking nasty today. pleasant children mostly today….

broken spell

i don’t feel it
anymore
when he is near
the spell is broken
the electricity gone
i feel
affection
fondness
thinking only of him
as a friend
someone
to talk to
i don’t feel it anymore
that need
to be inside his skin
to have him touch me
in every
possible
way
…now
i feel whole
without him
the spell is broken.

my ex-husband lost his job recently due to covid politics. i offered him a place to stay since he won’t have the income to pay his rent & will most likely be looking for a job closer to me & the kids.
i worried that this proximity might spark something as it has been a little over a year since our last (final final final) breakup.
i mean, i am trying to be realistic. obviously, after 12 years of an on-again/off-again relationship, how can i be sure that there will not be another on-again?
but i feel no attraction to him. yay! even after he brought me whiskey & has been all sweet.

and just the other day i read through my pages for my future book (the invisible exhibitionist) as i put it on a thumb drive to mail to my publisher (are you ready for that, tara?)
so many writings of my torrid relationship with the dad…so so many.
which inspired me to draw this page in the style of my self-portrait period.

a giant without you

& when i went to hug
him
i realized
i had grown larger
or had he
shrunk
or both
my thriving since
we fell apart
his diminishing
without me
he felt so
fragile
& i realized i felt
tremendous
indestructible
i have grown
into
a giant
without him.

day thirty-seven

& you find that
you have spent so long
pretending
as hard as you can
that everything
is okay
then comes the day
there is no reason
to pretend
anymore
& you are
flooded
with all those
feelings you kept at bay
& you realize
how fucking
miserable
you were
& how fucking
relieved
you are
to be done
with it.

i didn’t realize how much i hated the house i was living in until i moved out of it & into madness manor. it was always falling apart & we had to share it with hordes of rats.
& my landlords were slumlords only i didn’t realize because i was trying so hard to not fall apart & to be a good tenant so i wouldn’t have to worry about moving somewhere else.

funny how that works. what a person will endure to survive…only to realize how difficult the endurance was once it’s past. i have had plenty of relationships & jobs that fall into this category as well.
oh, and my childhood.

no more tears

driving home
with an eyelash in my eye
two hours
with an eyelash in my eye
wishing
a sad song
would play on the radio
because
for the life of me
i could not
make myself
cry.

unable to make myself cry and a surprising lack of sad songs on the radio made for a painful road trip. i’m not sure i know who i am if i am unable to cry at the drop of a hat? usually i can think about my childhood…my marriages…my loneliness…or the year of 2015, and i will start crying.
apparently now, there are times, when i am not completely tragic.

speaking of crying…happy mother’s day!

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