lost girl

i was an outcast from an early age.
at ten months, i was cast off to relatives.
at thirteen months, my baby sister usurped my mother’s love.
i was a neurotic mess by kindergarten.
by high school i assumed no one like me & became
comfortable in my role as a pariah.
i don’t worry about people talking about me
or making fun of me
i just assume they do.
i don’t wait for people to leave me, i leave them first.
this is who i am
this is my suit of armor that keeps me safe
& pulls me
down down down.

my dad crashed the car, drunk driving, when i was ten months old. my pregnant mom ended up in the hospital, i was sent to whomever would take me.
when my sister was born a few months later, my mother who didn’t want another child much less another girl, devoted all her attention to my sister. out of guilt? out of identifying with that unwanted girl child? my mother & my sister were a lot alike whereas i took after my dad. i wonder if she could tell that already when we were infants. nevertheless, anytime my mom wanted to admonish me for being a bad daughter, she would tell me, “you were a wanted baby.” and that is as far into my history as she ever ventured.
i grew up a freak in a small town of conservative christian. even if i was accepted, i had retreated so far inside myself, that i could not find any acceptance.
and this formed me into the socially anxious easy-outcast i am today. you want me to leave? i’m already out the door, man. i don’t even wait for you to realize you want me to leave.

pariah

one nice thing
about a lifetime
as a social
pariah
not much
time
nor
energy
is spent trying
to
fit in
with the
conventional…
indeed
you are able
to see
the
whole
picture
because your place
in the nosebleed section
allows
for a
panoramic
view.

i really don’t mind being a pariah. every once in awhile it gets lonely…but i like not having to worry about what people think of me.

another ardhaanarishvara…then it turned into an airship.
sometimes that happens
androgeny & airships…another one of my bands.

shouldve said

i have
so much to say
but the words
come out
all wrong
in stammers
& fragments
i have
so much to say
but my brain
is tornado
valley
& nothing
comes out in the right
order
my best thoughts
flying away
at a moment’s
notice
only to come back
& settle on me
as i try
to sleep
a dusting of
“oh…i should’ve
said
that!”

a continuing of yesterday’s experience with social anxiety….

my big stupid mouth

my plan is
to never
leave my house again
to never
open my big
stupid mouth
again
to never be
foolish
to never
believe
i have something
worthwhile
to say
to never think
anyone
wants
anything
to do with me
again….

my social anxiety & i went to a meeting of like-minded rebels concerned about the forcing of masks on our community where there are zero cases of said virus.
i had so much to say, but quickly became overwhelmed by emotion & basically was only able to stutter out some randomness that probably did not even make sense.
i left the meeting feeling (ironically) even more alone than i had felt before finding the group. i felt like a social pariah.
see? this is why i do art & write & rarely leave my little bubble….

(to be sung to the tune of “creep” by radiohead….)

i would just like
to announce
that i have never
won a blog award
and after like
what
three years here?
i do not even have
400 followers.
can anyone beat me
at losing?
(i don’t belong here…
i don’t belong here….)

i have been meaning to do this post for awhile. when people “like” something of mine, i check out their blogs & undoubtedly, they are celebrating their 4 millionth follower after two months of blogging & have at least that many awards. usually, those folks don’t actually follow me–i suspect they themselves are fishing for more followers. maybe that’s why they have so many followers. they are good at the fishing.

but, you know what, i love the followers i do have because i know they are following me despite my massive unpopularity & inability to work social media. and i totally get excited each time i get a new follower.

also! anyone i am following, you can know i am following you because i genuinely like your blog. no gimmicks. i just like you.
unlike on twitter or instagram where people will follow me until they realize i am not following them back, and then quit me…breaking my poor little heart…
unlike that, i am sincere about who i follow. i never even check to see if you follow me back.
not that i have the attention span to do that….

and as for awards.
i am not here for awards.
(in fact i have seen on a couple blogs that they actually have a “no awards accepted” thingy…not that i need one–but i totally respect that.)
i am here to share my story & to share my art for anyone who is interested or who feels akin to my words & inkings.
so i am not really counting my followers or waiting for awards. i am here to express myself and to connect with authentic folks like you.

the art above is a postcard i made one time when i was at zinefest and the printing company did not have my postcards done on time. so i made postcards to sell while i sat at my table at zinefest–which ended up being more fun than having already made postcards.
i have stuffed lion just like the one in the inking. lisa the lion, although she is 40 some years old & tattered to bits.

INKtober seventeeth

i just feel so sad
i cry
& i don’t
know why
but still
the tears come
will there come
a time
when my very being
is not
composed
entirely
of tears?
just because i open
my heart
does not mean
i am someone
you know
i am
quite
unknown
possibly
unknowable
i don’t want to be
alone
but maybe i
cannot
be
anything
but the loneliest person you have ever met.

i still haven’t recovered from the show the mysteries of laura being cancelled…you know, three years ago–but i just found it on netflix and i know it isn’t really that great of a show…but i was emotionally invested nonetheless. c’mon–i’ve seen every episode ever of friends (when originally aired even!) you know i have my shallow bits.

okay.
so i know it has everything to do with dusty & my lingering love for him. my hope for a thing called “us.”
though there is every chance in the world that i will never be successful in any relationship ever.
but who is? you ask. well, from where i’m sitting…everyone.
or i feel like everyone i see is successfully human & relate-able while i am some funky misshapen thing from outer space….

i don’t feel like arting & inking…but i did this anyway–because it is inktober & i’m trying not to be a drop out because how fucking hard is it for someone with my neurotic & compulsive inking habits to not ink something every day?

i am not sure my art journal page nor my blog about it makes any sense today. but, you know, i’m more worried about what the fuck i am going to disappear into on netflix now that i have watched every episode of the mysteries of laura….

call of the wild

not quite domesticated
not close really
at all
not fully wild
too much brain
asking questions
of my heart
i am decidedly feral
i can’t follow directions
i hate being caged
i bite
i fight
too much heart
telling my brain
just hush
not wild, not tame
i am
decidedly feral
i can’t
i won’t
follow rules
running away
from convention
my favorite song
is the one
my heart sings
& i listen
even when told
but those who tout what is
normal, thereby good
that i should not
especially
when told by those
who know best
that i should not
not
listen to
that heart song
but
it is my call of the wild
it is
my different drum
& it fills me
& drives me
feral.

performance anxiety & high school reunions

emails from ex-cheerleaders
high school reunion
for this small town freak
i was going to be famous
by now
i was going to be
bigger than the beatles
but
you know
life got in the way
now i am a single mom
an unknown
just another cog
turning circles around
social media
but going nowhere
really.

so if anyone is looking for a good time, i have an invite to my 30 year high school reunion….
i wasn’t invited to my 20 year…the only time i actually was in a relationship. granted it was with dusty…but he’s charming & easy on the eyes. he might have been a good date….
my 10 year i was invited to…and i found a date…but then i ended up deciding it would be more fun just to get laid & skip the reunion.
that was pretty much how a lot of my decision making was done when i was in my 20s.

i have been depressed ever since i got the invite.
plus i had to see dusty to pick up the kids yesterday.
plus every song is still reminding me of seymour as he continues to ignore me….

in other news!

i was invited to join the literati mafia!!! so my imposter’s syndrome and anxiety about anyone noticing me is on full blast.
full blast, y’all.
and i am working on a post for them. which, of course, i am worried will not be good enough…but in my head it is an awesome response to the invite to my high school reunion/another obsessive piece about seymour.

so stay tuned!

(the illustration today is my practicing my figure drawing. lots of nipples & cooch in figure drawing, as it turns out.)

ps. i posted my memoir, in full without illustrations over on medium.

damaged

i’m so tired
of feeling damaged
i’m so tired
of feeling like i’m not worth
your time
like no one will like me
anyway
so why even try
i’m so tired
of doubting myself
of hating myself
of feeling like
i
don’t
matter
& i’m doing it all wrong
everything
wrong
&
no one
likes
me
anyway
i’m so tired
of being
my own
worst
enemy.

creases & folds

i’m lost
in the creases
& folds
of a world that i just don’t
fit
into
lost & confused
by spaces where i should
fit
but
just don’t.

so last week, i was a miserable mess.
i think i am starting to recover. i usually feel better on a new moon. you know, new beginnings & all that. forever the hopeful nihilist.
but there are a few more journal pages from this time of feeling…so fucking lost. lost & forgotten. never to be found. a horrible horrible feeling. i hate feeling lost.
so you know.
that’s coming up.
but i feel much better today.

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