phoenix rising

i realized something today
i am pretty fucking awesome
whether i’ve had
a beer…or two
or
am stone cold sober
whether my bathroom is clean
or the scene
of a toxic event
i am pretty fucking awesome
warts & all
literal & figurative
losing my mind
or all fucking zen
i am incredible
fantastic
amazing
think what you will
of me
but i am the only
one
who
knows for sure
i am
totally
fucking awesome.

after 250 self-portrait art journal pages (this is #251) in the past eleven months…it was bound to happen.
i felt good writing this…it was a bit harder to post as i am all, “what if i’m wrong? what if i suck?” but i totally felt it as i was writing it.
confidence.
belief in myself.
and it felt good.

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the smart one

i have never been
the beautiful one
it has always been
my sister
my friend
my roommate
my co-worker
i’m the other one
“the smart one,”
as one barfly told me
i am the smart one
decidedly not
the beautiful one but
the weird one
the quirky one
the creative one
the gal pal
the one night stand
not
not not not
the forever girl
not
the beautiful one
i’m pretty
i’m the girl next door
i have
a nice
smile
but…you know…
i am not
helen of troy.

i dunno. maybe on some level we all feel this way? i know my sister (“the pretty one,” per that same barfly) was recently lamenting that i was the one everyone thought was prettiest. of course, her only reference was my aunt marilyn…though my other sister’s mother-in-law also said it. but, you know what? that’s a fucking crappy thing to say to any sister. “you’re the pretty one.” fuck that bullshit.
i know i’m not beautiful.
but i have so much more. so much more!

now if i could just stop binge-watching high school romances i might be able to function again.

leap of faith

a leap of faith
i stand
looking
watching
waiting
will someone push me?
or do i
just
jump?
do i believe in myself
do
i
believe?
can i do this?
tap into that
deep
still
pool
of
confidence
i know
i know
is inside me
draw it up
in one deep breath
i just
leap?

bandorai

i’m the bad guy
you’re the victim
it’s the script
we follow
i’m the bad guy
you’re the victim
did we do this
together?
is it easier for me
to believe
i am the bad guy?
do you feel better
being the victim?
i don’t want to play
anymore
i scream
i cry
i insist
but you hand my mask
back to me
every time
i throw it down
“if i am the bad guy,”
i whisper
from behind that mask,
“why do i feel like
crap
whenever
you’re
around?”
because you’re
the bad guy
comes the answer.

always the bad guy no matter which way i play it. i am always the bad guy. i think the other day, when we were fighting about god knows what, i am pretty sure he said i had borderline personality disorder–as he had already diagnosed my mom as having. then, of course, i spin out wondering if i do have borderline personality disorder.
(he would not clarify to me what he actually said–another fun game he likes to play with me.)

why is it so easy for him to convince me i am the bad guy? oh…right… because i already believe i am.
but! i am in the process of changing that.
but the process is slowed down by long visits from the man who strives to be my victim. that weird narcissistic sadistic trick of posing as the masochist.
my ex.
another thing i need to work on.
finding other people i can ask for help in dire times…people that are not my ex-husband.

that one is not so easy for me to remedy. in fact, i am more & more convinced that i am spending the rest of my life alone…and lonely.

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