character study

(a personal observation)

life is like
menstral cramps
the pain comes
on a cycle
sometimes
it’s bearable
sometimes
it knocks you
on your ass
but it
recedes
it goes away
&
everything
is good
for
awhile.

i am working through some stuff that has been buried away for twenty-four years. i guess after getting all the childhood stuff examined & the major relationship stuff worked on, it is time to look at little injuries throughout my life that weren’t so little after all.

a warning

i hold my pain
cupped in my hands
a wounded bird
my pain is a precious thing
i hold it close
protected.

i was reading “pleasantville” by attica locke which takes place at election time in 1996. the epilogue is then at election time in 2000. reading that brought back a sharp pain with the memory of that election–not so much how it took weeks to claim a winner–but how during those weeks, my democratic sister got married and at the rehearsal dinner, my republican brother went around asking everyone who they voted for.
when he asked me, i told him, “ralph nader” he said, “i have no response for that” (or something to that effect which made me laugh.)
2000 was the first major “stolen” election in the u.s. that i know of. my brother worked for the republicans, worked for the bushes, as an IT guy. it wouldn’t be until 2008, the day he was killed, that i would learn just how involved he was.
november is his birth month.
december is his death month.
all this came up in my chest, in my heart, just reading a work of fiction referencing that 2000 election.
and i marveled at my response to the pain.
i gathered it up, holding it close, making sure i could still feel it. i don’t want to lose that pain. that pain has meaning. it has significance. it is all i have left of my brother.

poisonous

my words are poison
& as much as i would love
to spit them at you
you will not understand my pain
you will not wither
& die
you will use my poison against me
you will use my poison to make your own
my thoughts are poison
but where can i put them
what can i do with this pain
how can i get it out of me
can i use my destructive urges as compost
to grow something beautiful & beneficial
can i find my meaning somewhere else
find my salvation somewhere else
grow without cutting everyone down
i have four children
but i am not a mother
how can i be
with all of this poison in me
i have to
have to find my meaning elsewhere
find my salvation elsewhere.

this is directed at my ex. i often find myself wanting to make him hurt the way he has hurt me…but i know from experience that that will not work & i will just end up hurting myself even more.
i was in a lot of pain for the birthdays of my oldest & youngest (one day after another) as my soul remembered the different pains of the experience of becoming a mother for the first time with an unreliable partner…& for the last time with that same partner.
the pain did lift…but it was intense while it lasted.
this incoherent vomiting of verse was my attempt to make sense of what i was feeling.

keeping safe the pain

give your pain
to me
i will keep it
safe
i know how important
pain is.

this is another one where i inked first & wrote after (rather than my usual routine of writing & then inking.) it took me a day or two before i found the words. i thought this thought after reading another novel & finding myself lost in the story, feeling the feelings of the characters to such a degree that sometimes i have to set the book down & walk away from it.

inside me

to say the ex & i have communication problems is an understatement.
but i find like i feel like i’m being buried alive when i try & try & try to communicate–& the other party only hears what they want to hear.
i don’t know what to do.
do i give up?
or do i keep screaming?

backwards

i keep an art journal to sort through all of my thoughts & feelings.
my art journals have saved my life.
i share them just in case they might let someone else know they are not alone.

i had a really bad day a couple of days ago. i am thinking, one step forward–two steps back??

my mother

almost one year exactly
after the death of my father
i found out
about the death of my mother
though she had been dead
almost
two months…
now i am
an overgrown
orphan.

moses jones page six

my tarot reading last night indicated that i am ready for a new relationship…but am still heavily influenced by what happened in my relationship with dusty….
my art/comic concurs.
the dusty effect on my heart….

anti-versaries

ah crap. it’s september…such a wonderful month for fall smells & sights…and the anti-versary of
meeting my first big love/heartbreak/betrayal
marrying my first husband
& meeting my last big love/heartbreak/betrayal

no wonder i feel like a big bag of hopelessly crappy crap.

fuck you, september
(please stop being hot now & at least give me some 70 degree weather)

image from an art class…moses jones as an archangel, slaughtering dusy–or, you know, the devil.

anti-versaries….

fifteen years ago
i married the man i thought i would be with
forever
i thought i had done my time
suffered my losses
dug my way back up from hell
& now i was being rewarded
we had a picnic wedding
we had a slip & slide
& a dunk tank
we wore flip flops
made up our vows
and promised to always
always & forever
be there for the other.
what happened?
what went wrong?
like every other event in my life
i have analized
& apologized
& tried to puzzle it out
but i guess i never actually made it out of hell
i was just on a new layer
of fresh pain.

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