mosaic

peeling away
my
layers
seeing what i can find
underneath
to fuck
around
with
exposing my
own pain
they say never to pull away
the scab
never to expose the tender pink
but i find it is
healing
piecing together
the jagged leavings
years
of neglect
years
of abuse
i am a mosaic
of the bits of me
that
survived.

once again i found inspiration with my expressive figure drawing book. of course the figure i borrowed from was sitting very elegantly & when i tried to copy it, i ended up looking awkwardly sprawled–which is pretty accurate for my appearance. 

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don’t be sweet

please don’t be sweet
i can’t
bear it
with your playful eyes
if you are sweet…
it is so much easier
to hate you
i only want to
hate you
i cannot afford to
love you
to fall back into that
easy rhythm
of us
that close to
destroyed me
so please
don’t be sweet
with your seductive eyes
so sweet that i
remember
all the good times
burying
the bad times
reaching out
to touch you
knowing
if i do
i will be caught in a cascade…
i’m begging you
please
don’t
be
sweet.

so i had an on-again/off-again relationship with the father of my children that lasted close to forever & almost killed me.
it took me so many times of trying to leave him…& so many years to recover from his influence on me.
he is emotionally abusive, manipulative, & narcissistic.
but, apparently, i love him?
what the fuck.
most days i would not admit that. most days i would have a clear & close hold on to all the bullshit he put me through in the years i have known him. a shield made of bad memories.
but i saw him on tuesday…
& he was all sweet & silly.
he was dressed so strangely. unorthodox. which, of course, caused me to find him attractive. i mean, he is attractive–physically. when i met him he was kind of awkward & goofy, but as he aged he became gorgeous. so when a gorgeous man dresses in an unorthodox way–it has kind of a stunning effect…at least on me.
crap.
so now i am trying to hold it together.
to not do anything
slippery.

embracing my grizzly heart

my grizzy heart
does not want to be
a dancing bear
in your circus
…i’m not proud…nor am i ashamed
…of how many men…i’ve made cry
i come to you
wild
not asking you
…to tame me
…to cage me
i come to you
wild
not wanting you
…to curl up in a ball
…or run away
i come to you wild
because
it is who i am
walk with me
wrestle with me
adventure with me
&
dance
with
me.

i am no longer apologizing for who i am. i am embracing myself. i used to have a reoccurring dream about being hunted by a grizzly bear who never actually hurt me. one day i realized that the grizzly bear represented a part of me that i was afraid of. after i realized that, i stopped having the dream.
i have continued to struggle with the grizzly bear inside of me. with little voices telling me how i am supposed to be. what the world expects of me. and when i try to meet those invisible expectations…part of me always dies.
in relationships i often find myself with either people who want to conquer my inner grizzly, or people who see the grizzly and just get the fuck out of there.

part of my healing is my embracing my grizzly.
bear hugs might be scary…but they are so totally worth it.

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….

being present

it’s like
all of a sudden
(after 30 years of work)
i have found my way
to the present
i’m not waiting
for today to end
so tomorrow can be
a better day
i’m not tormenting myself
with the past
i’m here
noticing
letting go
living
i have spent so much
of my life
haunted
but my ghosts are leaving me now
i am no longer
a good habitat
for bad memories.

random thoughts of an “adult” nature…

i miss sex, y’all.
like i’m some fucking monk….
i know i can go on okcupid & find a hook-up. god knows i’ve had offers when i’ve been on there. (my profile is down right now because i don’t know what i want…or, rather, i don’t think that what i want can be found on a dating site.)
but i don’t work like that. i mean, i will think–sure just sex–that’s cool. but if i’m willing to have sex with you, dude, i’m going to fall in love with you.
if the right person looks at me just the right way, i fall in love. i watched the sound of music with my kids the other day & fell in love with christopher plummer. god he looks good with dark hair–& those piercing eyes…sigh.

man, i miss sex.
it’s been over a year. i don’t know for sure how long because i didn’t know that the last time was the last time.
also!
since september of 2002, i have only had sex with dusty.
that might not seem odd to some of y’all, but here’s the thing, before dusty, i had had sex with 30 people. i was 32 when i met dusty and had decided that my number of partners could absolutely not surpass my age.
he was #31.
so 16 years with only one partner….
i mean, if we were still married, i would be proud of that. but we divorced in 2010. we continued to have a relationship with each other…but he also went off the rails & was having all kinds of relationships with all kinds of people.
while i had lost my mojo.
i lost my mojo.

i miss sex.
but sex is tricky for me. i have all that hard-core catholic programming of sex is bad (unless you are making a baby in wedlock.)
and then i have all the fucked up programming of my fucked up parents who modeled for me that a romantic relationship is a balance of fighting & fucking.
also, being a mom has made me self-conscious about my sex drive. it’s when the minions are away that i remember–
i am by nature a very sexual creature.
i am not going to go into details because of my latent catholicism and because i know i am inviting the wrong kind of attention by talking openly about sex while being a woman.
but i am–mostly–okay with this part of me. if you are into astrology, i am a cancer with a scorpio moon & scorpio rising. that’s like: sex sex emotions sex emotions & sex…with a lot of emotion.
i like sex.
it is something i am good at. (really really good–again, can’t go into details, but…really)
i miss sex.

but i don’t foresee myself having it again…unless i meet someone i can actually have a lasting & healthy relationship with.

some days that feels like the most impossible thing ever.

and i just find myself thinking…
i miss sex.

uncharted waters

it’s not just that
i’ve written these words
before
drawn this face
before
but i have lived
this lie…
li[f]e
often
spinning
in circles
following my own tracks
as if
i am afraid
to move forward
on
&
into
uncharted
waters.

sometimes…sometimes i just start drawing & see what happens. it’s been more common for me to do this than to plan out an illustration for my words. my thinking about what i’m going to draw before drawing it is a more recent development.
used to be, i would just start drawing.
which is what i did with this one.
but i kept thinking…why does this look so familiar (i mean, other than being a self-portrait)…then it hit me. i unintentionally/ subconsciously? drew me in the style of tank girl.
i love tank girl. she was a comic i was turned on to back in the late 80’s–early 90’s when i used to shave all of my head except my bangs wore trousers & doc martin boots & someone handed me a tank girl comic…because….
and i fell in love.
the same thing happened with love & rockets.
and both of these comics were ones i studied when i was trying to take my illustration skills from my confusion perfume days to my moses jones days.

but i did not set out to–or mean to at all–draw me in the style of tank girl. so now i’m wondering about that and about the bubbles that started out as a ball pit but morphed into a bubble bath which i didn’t realize until i read the last part of my journal entry.

uncharted waters.

so…why am i tank girl in a bath?
what am i trying to tell myself?
because, as master oogway says, “there are no accidents.”