disappeared

i want to just
disappear
no one loves me
anyway
i’m alone
so alone
& no one
not ever
reaches out
just to say
“hey–are you okay?”
i’m damaged
hurt & confused
it’s no fucking secret
i struggle
every
day
& no one
not ever
just for the fuck of it
checks to see
if i’m still
breathing
i’m alone
so alone
&
i have
already
disappeared.

i’m going through some rough shit right now. i don’t know what’s wrong with me.
i spent yesterday reading through select years of my journals to see if i could figure it out.
i don’t seem to be an inherently bad person. just stupid. so why does everyone gravitate away from me?
why does everyone leave me?
or just have nothing to do with me to begin with. not even the other lepers want to deal with me. i always think i am ghosting–but no one saw me in the first place.
(except for the narcissists. they usually stick around. which is all the more damaging as it turns out.)
what is wrong with me?

if i had a friend or a sister who was alone in the country with four kids, i would fucking check up on her. why does no one ever do that?
it makes me cry.
i have been crying for days now.

still invisible

every time i think
of writing
you
the words turn into
poetry
before i can pen
them
& next i find
myself
hoarding my own
words
clutching them
close
not wanting to
share
wishing myself
invisible
again
remember when i was
invisible?
camouflaged inside my own
life
unremarkable
me
oh how i miss
my
solitude
but these words i show you
now
they are my new
camouflage
because, really
you may look
but you still can’t
see
me.

just feeling a bit conflicted about how visible i make myself. there is comfort in being invisible. as much as i try to be seen…sometimes i want to disappear.
most times.
just call me the invisible exhibitionist (so totally a title to an upcoming memoir)

can you hear me?

with desperation
i try to get you
to hear me
not because i need
you
to hear me
but because
i need
to be heard
but you live
in your own world
as i live
in mine
& these parallel universes
never
cross
lines.

the better to eat you with

“you’re so pretty”
they say
“thank you”
i reply
“but listen to this….”
& i pour
out
my heart
every enchanted thought
waiting for them
to be dazzled
by my rhinestone
soul
“you have a beautiful
smile”
they say
as they see my lips
move
without
hearing a word
“my smile is a reflex”
i tell them
when i feel
frustrated
angry
overlooked 
misunderstood
invisible
my smile shines 
as my inner light
diminishes
“you have nice eyes” 
they tell me
i sigh 
“the better to see you with”
i reply
just before 
i eat them up
wondering how
they did not notice my sharp teeth
while they were admiring
my smile.

this is another shower thought–meaning, i thought of it while i was in the shower & then had to memorize it in order to get it written down before it slipped down the drain. 
i need a voice recording device in my shower. except then i would never listen to it because i have that common aversion to my own voice.
so i need a chalkboard in my shower. 

also, i think this poem could go longer & have more to it. my art journal project limits my original thought to the length of one page with room for an illustration.
however, in editing, i can always elaborate. 
i think this one might need some elaboration.

okay. so my to-do list has me working on creating a finished, publishable version of my art journal. right now i am focusing on re-creating the art for it and later will look for the written pages. 
also, i am working on editing & putting together a collection of short stories for publication.
why am i telling you this? because, for the past year or more i have posted almost daily, sometimes three times a day. but now, with all this editing & finishing, i am not posting as much. 
but i don’t want y’all to wander off & forget about me. 
i hope to get posts up a few times a week. i will definitely be posting finished art journal illustrations as they are done. 

okay. 
let’s get into trouble, baby. 

exposed

how much do i hide
how much do i reveal
is too much of me
showing
am i scaring you
do you feel uncomfortable?
is that a good thing
or a bad one?
i want your attention
look at me
look at me
look at me now
oh
wait
now i’m scared
now i’m uncomfortable…
(is that a good thing
or a bad one?)

it’s this dance i do. ever since i was a kid. dressing weird, cutting off all my hair, being different…and then hiding in a corner.
angry at the world for not seeing me…but terrified that they would notice.
a fucking goofy-ass dance.
why?
why am i like this? i am the invisible girl…splashing paint on myself.

is there anything more ridiculous than me?

how it begins

i am the sad one
the broken-hearted
i am the one
who feels
my pain is invisible
i am the one
who feels
too much
…but when the little voices
whisper
“don’t give up”
i listen
i may be sad
& broken-hearted
…but i don’t
give up.

so if i were to start an art journal memoir…this would be the first page.

sad aloneness

sadness
aloneness
& i wonder how many times
in how many ways
i can say
the same thing
& not be heard?
the comfort
of my invisibility
suffocates me
i want out
i. want. out.
can you hear
me?
please
get me out
of
my own head
before
i decide
i never
want to leave.

i think maybe this project has reached a conclusion…or maybe it will go on forever.
maybe i will go on forever
comforting myself with my own suffocating sadness

or maybe i will start an illustrated memoir.
i should really start an illustrated memoir.

okay.
so…i need an agent & a cheerleader.
someone who can tolerate large doses of bitter animosity & self-pity.
also, must enjoy loud children.

inktober 15…invisible

which is how i feel…invisible.

if i’m on social media for the sake of my art…and i get extremely very little feedback on said art…then why am i on social media when it just seems to contribute to my depression & anxiety?

inktober 14th

i am liking doing journal like inkings.
writing & drawing & spilling & splattering.

i’m not sure what i wrote made sense. it was mostly train of thought. randomness. talking to myself.

my approach is kind of that i don’t think anyone is actually paying attention, so i am just seeing what comes out of me. that’s actually pretty much my approach to life. i mean, i feel invisible most the time, so i don’t really worry what anyone thinks of me. you know what they say, there is no such thing as bad publicity.
so on i go.

and my self-portrait is all gunslinger. but no gun.
after i posted it i saw today’s prompt is “fierce.”

i’m fierce.
every day.

 

sometimes i just feel extra invisible…

ack.
social media sucks ass.
i mean
at least
for us super sensitive
extra damaged
introverts
sometimes i hate
facebook
so so so much
stupid tool
i feel like a stupid tool
extra invisible
everyone hates me
why do i do this
stupid
tool.

inktober3(3)

this is the third inking i have done today.
i am about to post it on facebook. in that stupid group i am in. and it will get zero “likes” as have the other two today.
inktober3(2)

c’mon.
my art doesn’t suck that bad.
why can’t i get a “like”….

and why do i care?

fuck a duck

i am ready to just quit facebook. a fucking social media site should not be able to cause me this kind of torment.
it’s stupid.
i know it’s stupid.
yet i am tormented.

IMG_0023

i am going to keep doing inktober.
i am going to keep doing art.
i am going to keep practicing my ink brush painting (right now i am opening the book the photo ark to a random page and painting it.)

and! and–i am going to get back to my comics. my moses jones and all the others.

it’s been too long.

so fuck you, facebook. even if you hate my art. i love my art.

i love being an artist.

a nice fucking neurotic artist.

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