meanwhile…

while i work on my fourth book
a gentle reminder
that i have published
(with a lot of help from tara caribou at raw earth ink)
three
count ’em
three books in three years

they are all available through lulu as i am not a fan of amazon.
links are on my love for sale page.
also! you can contact me for an autographed copy 🙂

enough

i watched him fall down
a full flight of stairs once
& land on his feet
i was totally attracted
to how self-destructive
he was
that tended to be
my favorite part of people
the part i could
recognize

the part i could

understand

that wanting to erase yourself….
i took him home that night

that falling down drunk night
i lured him away
from the other girls
with their naughty reputations
“for his own good” i told myself
i lured him with promises of blowjobs
it was the second time 
& last time
we would have sex
for as much as i loved him
& obsessed over him
for all the years i spent following him
with my heart on my sleeve

it turns out
he wasn’t self-destructive enough

to love me back.

queen of the imposters

it’s my grandma saying
“you’d be so pretty if only you dressed like a girl”
it’s my parents saying
“writing is a nice hobby, but what will you really do?”
it’s that boyfriend saying
“you might be sexy if you started jogging and lost some weight”
it’s the father of my children saying
“why do i have to work why you do nothing?”
the father of my children
questioning all my decisions while offering no help
the father of my children
insinuating i’m doing it all
wrong….
but they don’t even know
they don’t even know what they have done to me
that they have become a little voice in my head
telling me i’m an imposter
when i wear girl’s clothes & pretend to be pretty
i’m an imposter
when i say i’m a writer
i’m an imposter
when i feel sexy
i’m an imposter
when i try to mother my children….

a friend of mine was talking about how the judging voice in her head was “the white lady.” this made me wonder what the most disruptive voice in my head looked like.
so i meditated & journeyed into myself to confront the one who whispers “imposter” whenever i try to do certain things.
i couldn’t find anyone. no one came forward. i called & called, but no one answered. i assumed they were hiding from me.
but then last night as i lay in bed after being screamed at by my ex-husband who was visiting for our son’s birthday, i realized, my imposter voice was there…they just didn’t realize i was talking to them. they are oblivious to what they are doing to me. they think they have done nothing wrong. they see themselves as completely innocent.
this made me realize i need to start being oblivious to it as well. just drown it out by proclaiming, “i am not an imposter. i am a good mother. a good writer. i am pretty & goddammit, sexy too.”

washed away

i was letting myself
get washed away
in the current
when i got stuck
in a whirlpool
of me
caused by a pile
of my own
debris…
so then
so then i started
picking at
kicking in
fighting & crying
but the dam
held steady…
so now i relax
i float on my back
watching the sky
spin
above me
& i have faith
that my problems
will break free
make space
&
let me flow forward
once more.

more metaphors on my clogged stream of energy.

this inking is a self-portrait in honor of my upcoming self-portrait collection, the invisible exhibitionist.
my floating in a pool of me….

and also in the spirit of selfies. my publisher suggested i take a selfie with my book proof.

i am happy to say that reading through my proof made me laugh several times. it feels nice that i’m not making myself cry at the moment.

dove soup

the dove sits on the telephone wire
watching me do yoga, poorly
like i was feeling out of sorts
& yoga only confirmed
how badly my mind & body
are aligned. how ungrounded
how uncentered i am
& the bird watches all of it
through my picture window…
usually a lone mourning dove
is a comfort
an echo of my own lonely heart
but today it feels like a taunting
a mockery
& all i want to do
is shoot the damn thing off of its
spy’s perch
& have dove soup for lunch.

fraud alert

seeing my books
on discount
hit me much harder
than i expected
i am already too fragile
of late
my exhibitionist
more exposed
than invisible me

i’m trying to fly instead of falling…but i just keep tripping over myself. what the what. i hate this. i guess i need to take a breath & not push me too hard…but i can’t let me slip backwards either.
in other news, i had to fire my handyman as i am sinking further & further into debt and guessing i have to figure out how to fix madness manor by myself?
so tired of doing things by myself….
and as getting by on my good looks is not panning out…i had to get a paying job, but at least it is working with plants. of course, now i have to worry that i am not actually qualified to work with plants….
there was a personality test with the job application. i was sure i blew the personality test. who the fuck would hire me?
but they did hire me.
why? i’m not sure i would hire me.
and after i post this, i am headed over to the viroqua public market to drop off more art because my drawer at home is overflowing. now my spot at the market will be overflowing…i only sold just one last month.
i googled how to promote myself….
fuck.
i peeked out…couldn’t find my shadow…and now i’m headed back into my hidey hole.

coming soon!

tara over at raw earth ink sent me a sample of things to come for my next publication
the invisible exhibitionist!
so exciting!
for you who weren’t with me from 2017 through 2019, i was obsessively inking self-portraits & vomiting free verse in an attempt to root out the damage that kept me broken.
i wrote about everything & anything that went through my head or that i felt inside me.
i exorcised as many demons as i could find
& ended up making friends with a few of them.
i did almost 500 pages of self-portraits.
during 2020, i hung up a show at a local art spot & more than one person told me it should be a book.
so!
it’s going to be a book.
every time i read what i wrote back then, it makes me cry all over again. i was a raw as i could be.
and i share that rawness in hopes that someone who needs to see it will. in hopes that i can help at least one person not feel alone.
i am looking forward to seeing it all together in one book.

not your problem

he is a problem
you cannot fix
a puzzle
you cannot solve
walk away, babe
walk away

so there is a serious decline in attention paid to me & my art & writings…which is kinda discouraging. hence my lack of color in this journal page.
luckily, my yogi tea keeps giving me support & love (i haven’t been drinking alcohol but have been drinking lots of tea–the yogi tea has little inspirational fortunes on every bag.)
i’m trying to stay motivated…but, then again, if no one is paying much attention to my obsessive journaling, maybe i need to start going in other directions. maybe i am stuck in a rut?
i am totally working on a novel. slowly.
& comics. slowly.
what else?
inkings with free verse (like my journal pages–but for sale!)

any suggestions? what do you all want to see from me?
xo

just peachy

stick your thumb through the squishy
meat
of a peach
all the way through
feel the hard scratchy pit
with all its nooks & crannies
that is my heart
all of it
the squishy overripe peach
you can smell from across the room
& the hard
edgy
pit
all of it
all of me.

true story. i am hoping to start sending out poems for possible publication. i really do not know if any of mine are any good. i have never considered myself a poet, and when i look through my journals, it all seems like i’m sniveling about me. does anyone really want to read it? is it helping anyone for me to air my dirty laundry so enthusiastically? i do wonder…. but i did like this one. i will keep playing with it & see if there is anything to it.

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