moonlight epiphanies

moonlight epiphanies

maybe i cursed myself
not the moon
not a man
but me
i brought down
my mojo
locked it away
safe inside
keeping love
as a thing
i’ll never


self-portrait with bandaged heart

self-portrait with bandaged ear

it seems i am unable
to not
fuck things up
is my secret weapon
against myself
do you laugh
or do you cringe?
silly stupid
crazy hostile
do you laugh or do you
when you left
you left
a hole in me
for 22 years
i have worked to
deny it
fill it
fix it
mourn it
claim it was never there
& cry my heart out
over it
but i imagine
when you left
all that remained of me
was an
maybe i am cursed
maybe i am
silly stupid
crazy hostile me
if anything
if everything
i am
i am ridiculous
who does this?
who holds on like this?
& why?
what will become of me?
another 22 years
limping along
living despite
this hole
this missing part?
i guess that is it
others have hurt me
but no one else
has left me
split in two.

if i were a van gogh…or a bronte sister…or adele, maybe this would be more romantic & less disturbed.
am i disturbed? or is it just that my heart knows what it wants
despite my best efforts to make it shut up and grow up and get over it already.

but i carry my cut out heart in a stained handkerchief to hand to the one i love.
figuratively speaking.

these boots are made for stomping

there is a part of me
that will always
love you

that is
until i can search it out
& stomp it
to death.

why yes, i have been doing my yoga…why do you ask?

my minions are in wisconsin with dusty & my heart is breaking & i am promising myself to cherish them every intense moment when i have them back once more in my clutches.

i had a promising conversation with an okcupid-er but the problem was he changed his profile age from 45 to 35 sometime between my messaging him & his messaging me back. when i asked he claimed to be 35…but then i read through all of his answers to the match questions, & he repeatedly referred to himself as being in his forties in the answers (which did not even ask for an age–yet he volunteered it over & over again.) so i politely–ever so politely–asked him about it…and never heard back from him again.

online dating is beyond weird.

in other news, buttercup, one of my two ewes, gave birth last night. i went out to dump water buckets (so no ice in the morning) at sunset, & she was not in the pasture with luke but in the sheep hut. this is not like her. so i went in to check & heard a baby bleating before i even saw the lamb. she went on to  have another lamb (twins!) i checked on her throughout the night because last time she gave birth, at dusk, i left her alone and then found a dead twin in the morning. she did fine. the night was nice and dark though. cold & windy.

IMG_0558 it amazes me how a newborn sheep can seem fine with this february weather. yikes. but so far so good. they are both active & happy today.
though i feel sad that the minions weren’t here to see the lambs born.
they should be here.
they belong here.
i miss my minions.

i don’t want to be alone.


lurking demons

the harder i try
to be
the more invisible
i become
the louder i cry
the less
anyone can hear
the more i look
for love
the bigger pariah
i become.

put the last three journal pages together & it is my trifecta of torment.

poppy was screaming at me almost the entire time i was drawing & painting this. he wanted cream cheese & toast, but he has been holding his poop lately and i am afraid of creating a dairy stoppage…so i told him no.
over & over
as he screamed at me for cream cheese & toast.
i offered him other foods…but he only wanted cream cheese & toast.

eventually i relented.

which makes me the worse mom? having him scream at me for something that might make him sick? or giving in & giving it to him?
being a mom is a catch 22.

i woke up in a good mood this morning. however, fidgit & iggy were relentlessly cruel to me–in the way only children can be to their barely-holding-it-together, ultra-tormented mother–until i snapped.
which is why there are so many demons in my drawing.
i feel like i am filled with demons.

y’all are probably tired of reading my journal & looking at my self-portraits. y’all are probably tired of hearing about how i never wanted to do this alone. never wanted to wrestle with four headstrong children by myself. never wanted to be single & lonely & overwhelmed by my roles in life.
i’m still talking about it. still. it still weighs down my heart.
i’m still writing about it.
i’m still drawing it.

maybe tomorrow will bring something new.

playing with demons

invoking one demon
to do battle
‘gainst another
inviting a demon in
to drive another
it’s a tricky thing
to do
& is oddly
to see them tear
at each other
blood & gristle
claw & horn
pain that would
be yours
your demons share
with one another
when the smoke has cleared
you are still left
with one more demon
to banish.

aw crap. i called dusty to help. he came, & he helped. and my mom doted on him and said i never should have divorced him and she praised him while she defiled me. and he never stood up for me. he never confronted her until she spoke badly of him? of the minions? until he was grumpy & she was an inconvenience?

then they clashed. and battled. and i should not have enjoyed it…but i did.

in 2010, when i divorced him, my mom took him aside and told him, “it’s not your fault. she is difficult to live with” and he didn’t say anything. this past visit, there were multiple days of her talking about what an awful daughter i am.
and he said nothing.

so, yeah, a sad, sick part of me liked watching them scream at each other.

but now my parents are gone. we are left with no common enemy…just each other. and he has already projected that i am rejecting him.
now i am walking on eggshells not around my volatile parents but around my volatile ex-husband.


when someone close to you
it becomes part of your description
she has brown hair
a nice smile
and her brother is dead

birthdays are the hardest
his last one
I didn’t know
it was the last
his voice sad on the telephone
my pledge to keep in touch
this time

we live in a world
where I can obsessively search for
intimate details of his death
available in short video
burning plane
gray matter splattered on a playground
his last words, “oh, fuck.”

notorious IT guy for the other side
the Forrest Gump of stolen elections
everything reminds me
of him
the sound of a single engine plane
sad songs on the radio
politics, Christmastime, and charismatic men

I drink Irish whiskey this time of year
but it was Scotch at his wake
four years now
four years since the last election
four years since the plane crash
a conspiracy theorist’s wet dream
murder Republican style

when someone close to you
do you let it redefine you?
hello, I’m Connell
a mama, a student, an artist
let me tell you
about my dead brother

(written in 2012)


the pain
that special pain
of losing someone
& for no good reason
everything does not happen
for a fucking reason
it does not
there are so many
senseless happenings
in this goddamned
unless pain is it’s own
would be just

this time of year is just one big clusterfuck of bad memories
& bad feelings.
i have this fucking dark cloud hanging over me. every move is like i am underwater. just trying to tie my fucking shoes or something.
& it feels impossible
& i hate myself
for not being able to pull it together.