phoenix rising

i realized something today
i am pretty fucking awesome
whether i’ve had
a beer…or two
or
am stone cold sober
whether my bathroom is clean
or the scene
of a toxic event
i am pretty fucking awesome
warts & all
literal & figurative
losing my mind
or all fucking zen
i am incredible
fantastic
amazing
think what you will
of me
but i am the only
one
who
knows for sure
i am
totally
fucking awesome.

after 250 self-portrait art journal pages (this is #251) in the past eleven months…it was bound to happen.
i felt good writing this…it was a bit harder to post as i am all, “what if i’m wrong? what if i suck?” but i totally felt it as i was writing it.
confidence.
belief in myself.
and it felt good.

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navel gazing

you look so hard
into
your own heart
using
other people’s eyes
are you lovable?
are you beautiful?
are you special?
are you good?
are you a good person?
do you deserve happiness?
so much time
energy
so much of your own
heart
but you never
stop
you never
look up
& out
to see what is in their
hearts
& to wonder
are they lovable?
special, beautiful, & good?
do they
deserve
your happiness?

my warm bath of despair

i think
i sink
i find despair
so easily
like it’s in the pocket
i forgot to check
but
it’s there
no
matter
if i’ve forgotten
it
or if i am holding
it
close to my heart
eyes closed
breathing in
the familiar smell of
it
warming my cold hands
on
my
own
essence as it drips into
despair.

so i guess sadness is a sweater & despair is a bath? i sure like to immerse myself in my emotions.

curtains

this same window
i spend my day
creating
art
from the light
shining through
this same window
i used to sit
as a child
staring at the dark
reflected
back
at me
waiting
for my father
to come home
wishing
for my father
to never
come
home
it’s a different window
though it is
the same
only light comes through
now
no
more
dark.

i scribbled this thought down a few days ago, and remembered it today while reading JGomez’s beautiful & powerful piece “Disintegrate Elsewhere.”
my father always came home…and his homecomings were generally stressful…if not terrifying. a family walking on eggshells while a father waits, determined to take his temper out on someone. i learned to be quiet. i learned to be invisible. i learned to not draw the disturbed glare of his blue eyes.
i watched as others took the brunt of his temper. wishing him away. wishing to feel safe.

i live in the same house…but it is a different house now that he is gone. i wish little me had gotten to feel the peace that i am now, finally, able to feel.

down to earth

i am not safe
i am not easy
however
i am down to earth
i am right down to the
molten rock
lava in my veins
i am the hurricanes
on the sea
i am the tornadoes
on the plains
i am the rain that falls
to create life
i am the moon
waxing & waning
& pulling the tides
to me
i am alive
so
no
i am  not safe
i am not easy
& in my experience
i have found that nothing
nothing
worth having
ever is.

note to all you well-meaning men–if you aren’t interested, just say, “no thank you.” don’t make excuses. don’t prolong the inevitable. don’t rationalize & make nice. just fucking say, “no thank you.”
if there is need for further explanation, we will ask for it.
sigh.
i told guy to “be safe” after he pleaded “ptsd” and “not being that the kind of person to be sponateous” and “having too many responsibilities” to have a rendezvous with me.
first off, raise your hand if you don’t have ptsd.
fuck.
my ptsd has ptsd.
also, i have severe social anxiety.
yet i still reached out to him because i feel that the day i let my fears dictate how i live…i am no longer alive.
and who doesn’t have responsibilities? my whole life is responsibilities…which is exactly why i, for one, was dying to do something spontaneous.
i texted him that spontaneity is good for the soul.
he channeled somebody’s super fuddy-duddy father to text me back about not being able to do that for this & that reason.
why didn’t he just say, “no thank you” from the get-go? i am honestly wondering. this is not a rhetorical question of mine. i would ask him, but he shuts down communication with me pretty good with his fuddy-duddy father voice. i’m all like, “yes sir,” as i scamper away to look around for someone else to play with.
bleah.
so i told guy to “be safe.” i was being snarky, but thanks to text messaging ambiguity, he has no way of knowing that. (unless he reads my blog…but i don’t think he is that invested considering he turned down a booty call thinly veiled as an invite to a h.s. reunion….)
he said, “you too.”
and that inspired this page.

disappearing smile

i was so
preoccupied
looking at who i was
in our relationship
so bewildered
by my own behavior
by what i had
become
i never noticed
you
i never really saw
who you were
i pretended
you were
innocent & good
i trusted you
when you told me
you were perfect
because
what else could you be
if i was already
the monster?

i played around with this one a little. i don’t actually look like a cheshire cat…but he is one of my favorites in the land of alice.
plus i’m home alone with three cats right now and (i’m not a cat person.) so when i went to draw myself as a monster….
i mean, playing with hearts as if they are made of catnip? or, in the case of my cat roscoe, the thing you pull off a bottle of milk to open it. that plastic ring. a heart as a plastic ring? i mean, i did play with hearts…but only the still beating ones.
never realizing that mine was being played with as well….

okay…that might show up in pages to come….

love for the lovely

maybe
love
is for other people
with perfect smiles
& perfect hair
& perfect lives
a love
those disheveled souls
like myself
can watch on tv
& dream
of never
having.

who saw this one coming? i have been the virgin mother, joan of arc, the queen of hearts…it was inevitable that i would get around to being venus?

credit to “the birth of venus” by sandro botticelli