mother me

defeated by the creatures who sprung from me
paralyzed by four energies
crafted from my own
left incomplete by my creations
who only seem to be happy
when i am miserable.

ack! motherhood is so not easy. that’s a fucking understatement. i keep hoping i will figure it out & things will magically get easier, but i am starting to think the trick is to realize it is a fucking nightmare & still manage to find the joy.

carousel

i’m a fucking carousel
of emotion
watch me spin
…rather slowly at times
& to creepy music
of course
angry now
depressed now
hopeless & self-destructive
calm & grounded
elated now
full of love
turn a little more
here comes your abandonment issues!
and
oh
we are back around to the anger
…what makes the carousel turn
where is the plug?
is it safe to stop it
or
like a roulette wheel
will it stop on double 0
& everyone
loses?

another take on my spinning which is really clear if you sit & read through my journal pages all at once. i looked through about two years worth & got pretty dizzy.

trash

i am brilliant trash
a plastic bag
dancing in the wind
a piece of tinsel
stuck in a tree branch
i am fantastic
majestic
trash
a paper boat
launched into a storm drain
lint woven into a bird’s nest
i am amazing
trash
living in fear
of being thrown away
of not being recognized
for my amazing
potential.

yup. another true story.
i cannot remember what inspired this page. i’m sure others have touched on this theme. it seems like a common one to folks like me. the broken & damaged with our dazzling souls just longing to be noticed.
sigh.
someday….

no longer haunted….

i am thinking about this a lot. it seems me & my life are in all sorts of transition.
though i’m not sure how to be me without being haunted, i am willing to find out.

(somewhat inspired by a shel silverstein illustration here)

my mother

almost one year exactly
after the death of my father
i found out
about the death of my mother
though she had been dead
almost
two months…
now i am
an overgrown
orphan.

every which way

tomorrow i pack it all into a uhaul and head to wisconsin
tomorrow i begin a new adventure
amidst a new moon
& solar eclipse
& the anti-versary of a molestation
that happened
the very same time
as my beloved dog
becoming lost & eventually found dead
leaving me
with no one to comfort me
these same group of days
that my father’s birthday
falls into
this will be
the first dead father birthday
my emotions are a whirlpool
a tornado
hope & despair spinning fast
as i run away
again
from my childhood home
believing i will find an answer
on the horizon.

the above is a postcard sent to a patron for their support of my patreon page. the following are examples of art to be found on my patreon page.


broken people

i’ve always loved the broken people
always always
i am drawn to them
but not like a moth
to a flame
because i am also the fire
my own all consuming
damage
at least as deep
as theirs
at least as bright
as theirs
i love them because i think
they will understand
they will know me &
they will love me
because i am like them…
thing is
when both of you
are broken
who is picking up the pieces?

this was originally posted on july 3, 2018. it was inspired by the song “broken” by lovely the band.

i can’t decide which one i like better. i think i like the original better. it’s creepier. and the leg splay is awesome. but i do like the rouge i put on the second version.

my own

you have your
issues
i have mine
one of which
is my habit
of thinking of exes
as that favorite worn-in
pair of jeans
the work
already done &
you know they fit (ish)
when
in fact
my exes are more like
the broken coffee
grinders
lining that shelf
in a forgotten cabinet
where i stashed them
wondering
if i could one day
fix them
or
at the very least
figure out
the appropriate way
to recycle
them.

this is written in response to those who would be quick to judge my collection of exes and my mixed feelings about them.
it’s my issue.
my own.
i’ll sort it out. don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.

again, my hair totally looked like this when i got up this morning. it’s colored fuschia right now, and i had it ink a hair band while it was wet–and then slept on it. i should have taken a picture. it was glorious.

i’m a fucking flower. a beautiful fucking blooming flower.

whispers

in a moment
of quiet
i try to conjure you
your face
your eyes
how it will feel
to be near you
but i am quickly
surrounded
by the ghosts
of boyfriends
past
& i find myself
taking inventory…
did i love
any of them
or did i just love
the idea
of being
loved?
the few i can remember
loving
were just whispers
in the wind
of the storm
of my life….
mostly i surrendered
to pretty faces
who
made me feel
i must be valuable
surely
i am valuable
if they
want
me.

more borrowing from gustav klimt for the illustration.

seriously. when i think back to the 30+ men who have worked as chapters of my life…i cannot remember if i actually loved them. was i actually attracted to them?
i can count on one hand the number of them that i did feel drawn to–and those were some of the shortest chapters.
did i scare them away with my intensity? did it just become safer & easier to let myself be adored than to seek out & ultimately be rejected by the men i adored?
the ones i adored were mostly broken men. men with a sadness about them. a beautiful sadness…. those were my muses. and they all slipped away from me, leaving me in a pool of narcissists.
sigh.
i can’t say that the men i chased would have worked out any better than the ones i let catch me. they were probably right to steer clear of me. i would have just broken them more. (not on purpose–i’m just made that way.)

so i don’t know what to imagine for the one who will love me as i love him. the one who won’t leave; the one i will not leave…other than a punk rock, lumberjack poet. surely a punk rock, lumberjack poet.

i finished my journal that i started on november 2nd of last year…which means i will be updating my “invisible exhibitionist” page.

seven hundred years

sometimes i feel 
like i have been alive
for seven hundred years
i barely
remember 
yesterday
so for all i know
i’ve been alive
forever
&
i wonder
if i’ll ever look back
on these days
of struggle
of isolation
from the comfort
of a soul mate’s 
embrace
look back
in wonder
& awe
how did i ever survive
such desolate
times
to feel peace 
in my heart
while remembering
a time when peace
was a fantasy.

this, and a few more pages to come, were written yesterday when i was feeling especially hopeless & suicidal. good times…. being a single mom with next to no support system. i need to tell y’all, do not try this at home.

strangely, once i accepted that there was nothing to hope for, i felt a bit calmer. that’s me. finding comfort in the concept that i will never find comfort. 

this page does not have my standard issue self-portrait…unless you consider that that is my soul flying under the full moon. 
owls symbolize being able to see what others cannot. i identify with the owl, though i assume everyone else can see what i see. 
which, i guess, is not the case.
so!
i make art.

i may have gotten a little carried away. i think i painted my words out.

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