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.

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INKtober eleventh

have i always
been a
mess
have i never
been not
falling apart?
a puzzle
missing vital pieces
a pot
boiled over
gnashing teeth
weeping eyes
disconnected
frustrated
losing my mind
just
wanting to
scream
scream
scream until
my throat
is raw
that is how i
measure
my
failure
my every day
fall
from
grace.

 

INKtober tenth

sometimes
i feel like
no matter how hard
i try to be
a good person
try to do things
right
no matter what
i am doomed
to failure
&
i’m really trying
that’s the thing
being a good
person
is important
to me
so these
suspicions
that i am
fucking
it
all
up
anyway
are especially
devastating.

it was suggested by a beloved follower that my self-portraits could maybe smile. i couldn’t think up a smart ass response…so i drew one.

i used to smile constantly. i have extreme social anxiety & smiling was my way of satisfying the hordes that could not understand how terrified i was of small talk & social interactions. plus, being a girl in this culture, i was told to “smile” every time i did not smile. so i was one big explosion of smiles.
i remember one snarky girl at a party i was at when i was in my early 20s–i happened to be dating the guy she desired…but did not know that at the time–saying loudly, “does she do anything other than smile?”

death, single motherhood, betrayal, & heartache seriously dampened my smile. i sometimes find it extremely difficult to smile, in fact. sometimes smiling makes me cry.

but sometimes an authentic smile burbles up.
sometimes.

meanwhile. this is me. this is the smile i can muster without crying, too much.

constructive criticisms from a soon-to-be five year old who was watching over my shoulder as i drew this…
“you look nothing like her.”
“you’re not even trying.”

embracing my failures

i’m not living in the past
i’m not living in the future
i’m in the right now
& it fucking
sucks
it fucking
hurts
like hell
but i’m present
i’m here
embracing
my failures.

i was doing “yoga with adriene” last night. the theme was “embrace.” she asked us, her youtube audience, to embrace something.
being one to often cry during yoga
being one who having a hard day has become more of a given than an exception
being one to spend too much time inside my head
try as i might
all i could come up with was, “i embrace my failures.”

then cried some more because i had nothing better to embrace…cried while i stretched & toned in an effort to stay sane & fit.

i wondered at my embracing failure. it sounded like negative to me at first. like a failure in itself. i had not found anything good to embrace…only bad.
but then i wondered if it might be a good thing to embrace my failures.
right?
what else do you do with them?
hide them?
hidden things tend to fester…at least in my experience.
so maybe my embracing my failures is a step in the right direction after all.

embrace
resolve
turn around
try again….

so while that percolates on that flame of my brain, on another burner i have this noticing of a recurrence of the number six in my daily life. i have never gotten around to studying numerology, but i do notice when the same number keeps popping up. like when the clock shows my birthday…or my brother’s death day….
being a good (though recovering) catholic, i especially notice a triplet of sixes–which recently showed up on the odometer of the car i just bought. and although i do not cross myself…i do feel an impending doom when i see it.
however, being a born again pagan, i thought to myself today, what does numerology say about the number six?

i found this on a google. six as a life path number. basically spelling out all of the character traits that i have that i do battle with on a daily basis. i mean, yes, of course i want to change the world & fight for the little guy…but why can’t i just lay in the grass & drink a beer? or be a traveler with no responsibilities, leaving when things get rough? why can’t that be who i am? why do i have to be the ultra-responsible, high morality, wanna-be savior of mankind?
does mankind even deserve being saved?
can’t i take a vacation?

no. because i have actually shaped my whole fucking world around raising four children to be different. to not be like everyone else. to creating a better tomorrow in the only way i know how. by being a good mom. a strong mom. and i can’t run away from it. i have to stick to it and keep trying no matter how much i feel like i’m failing…even though it seems like i am always failing…i just have to embrace my fucking failures, and i have to keep
fucking
trying.

wow, see that?
i came full circle.

i can’t play the game

the internet game. i can’t do it. i can’t do facebook. i can’t network. i am terrible at being anything but sincere. and i am completely crushed when my sincerity is not returned in kind. i take people at face value…so if they are disingenuous, i feel like it is a personal attack.

i can’t play the game.

i should be a bronte sister hidden away on the moors. dreaming my silly dreams and never being allowed to interact with others. then i can keep my hopes intact. i could just send my stories & art out in the post and hear back in six weeks as to whether my stories and art will make it to publication.

i can’t do the internet.

i hate how fake i sound when i post about my fucking chickens when i just want to twist their heads off because i have control issues, and chickens are just uncontrollable…unless they are nuggets. i hate how fake i sound when i post about something cute my kids did or my garden when i feel like i am falling apart. when i feel like i am the worst mom ever. when i feel like it is all a sham. why am i even here? what is the point? i just want to pack my bags and disappear.

i can’t do this anymore.

i wonder if anyone else feels like this? that the world has become one stupid photo op? one stupid witty quip. one stupid tweet. one stupid selfie. one stupid picture of what isn’t falling apart in your life. just don’t look too close at that picture and everything will be fine.

or am i truly alone.

on the moors.

with my dreams whipping away in the wind.

this is not the person i am supposed to be

i feel like a failure.
what’s worse is that i feel like i am a failure at being a failure.
other people seem to be able to make a life out of failing.
i can’t even do that.
i want to tear a hole in the world with my teeth.
there is so much pain inside of me.
and when it comes out–
i feel even worse because i am causing pain.
i won’t tell you.
but i am a monster.
an awful horrible monster.
and that is not who i am supposed to be.
i don’t know why i am a monster.
i want to be a good person. a helpful person.
a loving
and nice
person.
i can see that person in my head.
but i am not that person.
i am a monster.
i can see in my head
the person i was supposed to be.
kind & nurturing.
not a complete fucking mess
so angry at the world that it tears me apart
and spills ruination on anyone
everyone
around me.

i tried to so spells
wear stones
to help me find balance
let go of negative thought patterns.
i failed.
i think i somehow charged the stones
to do the opposite.
now i am an even bigger mess.

i started reading jenny lawson’s book
furiously happy
which highlights her struggles with mental illness
you know
in a funny & heartwarming way….

fuck me
i am frankenstein’s monster.
i am
i wanted to love…
but all i can do is cause fear
and disgust.
an abomination.
i am an abomination.

i was once a sweet child.
a hopeful child.
but i grew into an abomination.

 

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