without hope

i don’t know
what i could possibly
be hoping 
for
what would even cure
this
thick
bleak
sludge
i call my soul
what could ever change
my hopeless situation
i mean
it’s
hope
less
that is
without hope
that one thing
pandora supposedly kept
from escaping
her box
hope
hope is gone
because really
i’m pretty sure
it was never there
to begin with.

this is from the other day when i was in a deep dark place, deciding that i should just do away with hope because what had hope done for me lately?
in case you’re wondering
or conference calling me with the suicide hotline
i am feeling less bleak today. 
i mean, if i think too hard, i could probably recall my reasons for eighty-sixing hope. however, i am going to try to float a bit above that abyss for now…until i trip & fall into it again.
until then….

ps. it doesn’t make sense. if pandora opened the box & let loose all the horrible things onto humankind…but slammed it shut before hope could escape, wouldn’t that mean hope was locked away from us? or that the awful things flew away from us? one or the other? why was hope in there with all the horrors anyway? wouldn’t it be kept in a box with love & kindness? or why keep hope in a box at all. let the little fucker run free.
i mean
i get it–but it doesn’t make sense.

credit to arthur rackham whose depiction of pandora i borrowed  heavily from.

Advertisements

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.

INKtober twenty-eighth

i am autumn
i am change
i am ready
to rest
to let go
to prepare
for
spring.

…if i survive winter.
i felt calm, hopeful even, when i wrote this as i watched the wind blow across the blue sky outside my window.
then something cracked & damaged inside me shifted. my rabies flared up.
now i am not so sure that i am anything other than a dead mom walking.
maybe i am not meant to rest.
like my own dear mother always said, “no rest for the wicked.”

INKtober sixteenth

i don’t know
if i should
laugh
or
cry
live or die
make the best
of a
bad
situation
or…
just don’t…
my heart’s not into it
this game of
life
my heart
left
during intermission
my life is
an intermission
as the band says
should i stay
or
should i
go?

so this is completely stupid. i started watching a tv show on netflix. a mediocre tv show that reminded me of all the cop/detective shows i so so loved as a child.
the mysteries of laura…it even has a stupid name.
& yet i let it be my soothsayer.
the series begins as the lead character–a strong, intelligent, & stubborn woman, is just divorcing her adorable but cheating asshole of a husband.
the show was pretty predictable & the characters lacked depth and each episode was neatly wrapped up in 50 minutes….but i was glued to the series as i waited to see what would happen between laura & her cheating ex, jake.
he was devoted to getting her back.
she found a hot new guy.
but then dumped him when she realized she was still in love with jake.
alas.
jake proposed to someone else… (so much for devotion.)
and the second season ended…not to be renewed by nbc.

fuck a fucking duck.
my magic eightball went ka-put.
and i sobbed like a toddler who dropped her ice cream on the hot sidewalk.

so i’m kind of disgusted with myself right now.
really actually pretty much
disgusted.
and i’m probably going to cry myself to sleep again tonight.

thanks nbc.
think of that next time you decide to cancel a show.

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.”

marry me?

quick
someone marry me
i can’t bear to wait
a minute more
i can’t bear
the idea
of having to meet
& go through the whole dance
just
quick
someone run away with me
let’s pretend we’ve known each other
all our lives
let’s just skip the awkward parts
go straight to the good stuff
the happily ever after
you’ll have time
to figure me out
i’ll have time
to learn everything
about you
just
quick
someone spend the rest of this life
with me
i need a 25 year long marriage
by tomorrow
if possible.

i commented “marry me?” on an artist’s instagram photo. i couldn’t help it–she is a beautiful red-haired woman who does these fantastic water color pictures of smiling 1950s era women with black eyes & other suspicious injuries.
i’m just going to start asking every fabulous person to marry me. someone is bound to say yes.
i did this one thanksgiving when i couldn’t bear the thought of another family thanksgiving. i went out to a bar and asked everyone for an invitation to their thanksgiving. the bartender ended up inviting me to his–which was being cooked by his roommate who was a renowned chef in town (lexington, ky.) i also got laid & went on to stalk said bartender…but that is another story.
other than the heartbreak of accidentally falling in love only to be dumped after thanksgiving for his lesbian gal pal, i think i did pretty well.
so i plan to take that approach & apply it to my next marriage.

ps. the water color artist has yet to reply. i may have freaked her out.

a love poem

he
uses a feather
i
use a hammer
he
teases
& tempts me
i
just whack the fuck
out of him
leaving
him
senseless.

i so tried to draw me all “come hither” and completely failed. i am so not “come hither.” i am the hammer of love. i look like a threat…not a promise.
sigh.
i don’t know how to flirt.
i don’t know how to be subtle.
i’m just all, “ya wanna fuck?”
seriously.
i am not good at relationships…i scare the fuck out of men.
i wrote this because i texted someone tonight to try to entice him to come here to be my date for the reunion tomorrow.
oh my god, y’all. i am so so bad at this. i come on way too strong.
however…guy did not say “no.” so cross your fingers for my having a date to my reunion…of course, for my ten year reunion, i found a date…but i never went to the reunion…i just got laid instead.
so wish me luck!

confusion is nothing new

once i wrote a poem.
it really was a poem…or at least i thought so. i was twenty-four and was full of light & hope & tragedy. i borrowed the title from a line in the cyndi lauper song time after time,  “confusion is nothing new.” i love that line.
i lay alone in my room at night, and i wrote this poem.

teeth and gums and nakedness
nothing new
a series of dreams
that never come true
but can i really say
that i never get what i want?
when wants change
and needs are undecipherable?
needs
i’d like to get what i need
teeth and gums and nakedness
men following men
through my room
moonlight
sunlight
lamplight
condom wrappers
and nothing fulfilled
but i got what i wanted
for 30 seconds
teeth and gums and nakedness

i have been thinking about this poem a lot. twice as many years later. written half-way to here. i wonder if anything has changed. really. love seems just as meaningless today. just as trivial. i have given it so many many chances and all i have in the end is teeth & gums & nakedness.
still.

david’s battle

the seemingly
incessant
drone
as crop dusters
raid the air
above me
the earth
around me
coated in their
poisonous wake…
& i listen
to the silence
they leave behind
straining & hoping
for the hum
of pollinator’s wings
& the song
that once filled
the night air
from my frog-filled pond
dead quiet greets me now
& i lay awake
for all the noise
in my fevered
mind.

on my okcupid profile there is a question asking “what will you be arrested for?” i have a new answer now, “shooting down crop dusters.”
i am having such fantasies of holding a shotgun & taking off their tail feathers. in my mind i confront the farmers who hire them over & over, tearing their asses off most eloquently.
but i remain motionless. what do i do? i feel like i am confronting a giant that cannot even see me. i pray to the universe to give me strength & faith, but i feel so fucking hopeless about the world right now.
the crop dusters are just the super annoying poisonous icing on the cake.

i love how fierce i look in this self-portrait. i want to be that fierce. also, just sos you know…i have a lot of trouble drawing inorganic objects. that’s about as good as it gets.

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑