so not gmo

how many generations
of fucked
uped
ness
is there
in my bloodline?
if i were
livestock
i would have met
with the butcher’s block
to prevent further
tainting
the herd.
is it a crime
against
nature
that i continue this
–yes, handsome, but
what of it’s
psychotic & chaotic
nature–
line of creation?

so…troubles with momming of late. convinced i am the lead monster of a pack of monsters….
sigh.
have i mentioned how much being a single mom just sucks ass?

on another note, i really liked what i did here changing it up by using pink skin tones rather than white space.
it’s an experiment….

queen of all i see

celtic queen
to mongol lord
to russian
revolutionary
to vietnamese
rebel
&
finally landing
on
mother….
is it a fall from grace
though?
as a mere
mother
i still
rebel
i still
fight in the revolution
i still am a lord
& queen
so not a fall
but
an accumulation?

an art journal exploration of what i feel to be past lives leading up to this one….
clearly this was written when my kids were away with their dad & i didn’t feel like a complete fucking mess of a mother.
clearly i did some heinous crime in a previous life to land as a mother in this one.
crap.

scabby

i push
everyone
away
because i can’t deal
with me
my children, my pets
the ones who least deserve it
i push
hardest
i hurt them for being
a mirror
to my own
bad behavior
my own
shortcomings
proof
that i suck
so i shove them
with all my might
push it all
away
so i can say
“see?
i am a monster.
see?
no one should love
me.”

do you ever just look at the illustration for one of my pages and think, “fuck this shitstorm,” and then flip on past?
i did not know i could draw anguish this well. holy fuck. i look miserable. and when i look at the drawing, i know exactly what it feels like even though i am not feeling it at the moment…i was still able to draw it, even though i am not feeling it at the moment.
turns out, i am one of those people who believes things heal faster if you pick at the scabs.
that’s what this art journal is at least half the time.
my picking at my wounds to encourage them to heal…or at least make a scar i have a good story about.

so. i love children and animals. i’m not always a monster. but a lot of my injuries are from my own childhood & around my relationships with animals. so i have a lot of unresolved issues with children & animals that i struggle with.
some part of me thought it would be funny to surround myself with animals & children.
haha. so funny.
like immersion therapy or something? it doesn’t work like that. and as much as i love animals & children, i often feel as if i am drowning in my own inability to heal. it’s more than just picking at the scab–it’s poking an open wound.
it’s all me. i know that. my goat isn’t trying to be an asshole. my dog isn’t trying to overwhelm me with neediness. my children don’t intend to drive me insane (at least, i hope not, that would speak badly of their survival instincts….)
i can’t have less children. i am trying to thin out the herd of critters. and focusing really hard on not having those days where i am all, “why don’t i get 16 more things to take care of (aka stress out about.) surely i can handle that.”
that’s my next page in my art journal–killing that voice. that fucking voice. that “everything is wonderful–good time to make your life more complicated” voice.

anyhoo.
so i hope you stick around for my shitstorm
because after the shitstorm, comes the rainbow.
just, you know, bring an umbrella

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