ugly

this one didn’t really turn out
or did it?
i feel this way sometimes
ugly
hidden
falling apart
i sincerely have spent my life
feeling like
a mistake
a monster
a misfit
but then i look at my children
& i wonder
how ugly can i be
if i have made
such beautiful babies?

when i look in the mirror, sometimes i see a beautiful person & think i’m the bee’s knees…but still i consider myself one of the ugly ones because of how i am seemingly received by the general public. it’s like my art & writings. i love them…but often it feels as if no one else does.
& sometimes it just feels like everything i do is ugly.
except for my kids. they’re beautiful.

a lack of enthusiasm for inktober

so october 7th i drove the minions through the flatlands of illinois to collect this new member of our homestead:

we left in the morning and did not get home until almost five when poultry has to be fed and sheep watered all while trying to get the new baby to eat (he was pretty pissed off about being taken away from his family–no wonder–and it was a day before we could get him to accept the bottle.) plus i had to relocate the bunnies to a puppy pen so i could use their dog crate for quixote’s “stall” in our sunroom.  as well as feeding the minions, collecting eggs, putting poultry away….
so it was after seven before i got a chance to catch my breath.

and i just did not feel like doing inktober. so i phoned it in and used an inking in progress as my seventh day:

inktober7

which i then finished for the 8th of inktober.

which brings us to yesterday, the ninth. i wasn’t sure what to do. i decided to just do some journal inkings.

my first one came out like this:

inktober9

and i was all like, “what the fuck, em?” i thought about posting it…but felt really conflicted about it, for some reason.
art for me is a meditation and an exorcism.
what is going on here then?

so i tried again:

inktober9(2)

and ended up not posting this one either. i was convinced people would hate them and be, like me, wondering what the fuck is wrong with me.

i want to keep doing inktober–because it is fun for me and keeps me creating….
but i’m not sure i want to share anymore.
it feels like i am putting myself out there…to no avail.

i’m just weird.
misunderstood.
a misfit toy.

…a strange lady.

bus stop waiting

it’s probably not a good sign that i am googling things like “i just want to talk.” and looking on wordpress for blogs with “lonely” and “lost” in them. i would go on a dating site, but they give me the heeby-jeebies. i usually end up deleting my profile after a couple of hours. i end up getting way too much attention when i go on dating sites. how desperate are these people? i wonder. and i effectuate a hasty retreat.

what does it say that i find so many others when i use search words such as “lost,” “lonely,” and “just talk to me”?

maybe we are all lost & lonely & looking to talk to someone…anyone.

it’s been a long time, if ever, where i was in a relationship with a kindred spirit. someone i could open up to. someone with whom i did not feel lonely or lost. did i ever have that?

maybe. maybe once.

but i have spent a lot of my life feeling alone. i was born unconventional in a conventional small town. the quiet one. the strange one. it’s always been difficult for me to find people who understand me.
i know there are others like me.
i’ve seen the memes on facebook.
but somehow i have trouble believing they would understand me either. how can everyone be so different and strange? and how can i be so different and strange that i don’t even fit in with the different and strange?

i think i might be a different species. logical conclusion, right?

and i’ve decided that vincent van gogh is the patron saint of misfit artists. sorry. i was working on drawing while the minions made me watch doctor who. you know the episode with vincent van gogh? it makes me cry every time.

i don’t want to die alone. i mean, i know everyone essentially dies alone. born alone; die alone. all that. but i really mean, i don’t want to die alone. i want to find that one person. that one person who makes sense. and that one person who understands me.

i know that’s asking a lot.

but it could happen…right?

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