puzzle box

who i am
is
changing
how i do my art
is
changing
how i see myself
is
changing
it’s like
one of those puzzle boxes
where you move
one piece
&
all the other pieces
shift
into
place
dominoes
that seem to be
falling
but in reality
are creating
a bigger picture.

something is shifting inside of me. which is awesome, but i have to remind myself that just because i finally start moving, i can still get stuck again…or often, when one problem is fixed, another rears its head.
so now that i am starting to heal the ugly me & let her believe she is pretty, who will show up next?

i feel pretty II

if i am ugly
that
justifies
my feeling
like a misfit
an
outcast
i am more
comfortable
as a pariah
than as a
popular
so
i created
a monster persona
shave my head
&
bare my teeth
you best steer clear
of me
(they i can know
why i feel
so alone.)

i keep thinking back to when i started feeling this way. feeling like i didn’t belong & was surely the ugliest thing ever. a lot of it happened in grade school. i was a sensitive child, & i was weird. other kids didn’t really get me. so maybe it was easier for me to tell myself i was ugly?
easier than believing there was something deeper causing my pain?
my parents sabotaged my ego
my peers finished me off
& i stomped on any good parts of me that survived the rest of it….

terribly nice

i’ve gotten used to seeing
myself
as a bad person
a vengeful
siren
crashing men
on the rocks of me
seeing me
as a hurt person
lashing out
& being chased
by mobs with pitchforks
i have
unabashedly
celebrated
my horns & fangs…
but no matter
how terrible
i can be
there is this
nice & generous
this forgiving
creature
lurking inside of
me.

on the tail of trying to put all of me together…i discover that maybe i’m not a total cunt after all. huh.

who’s your daddy?

i am meditating on my inner father lately
after realizing
i have never met him
but i have been having so many dreams lately
with my father in them
a father whom i do not consider a father figure
so i asked myself
what does my inner father look like?
who is he?
what is my relationship with him?

my inner mother, on the other hand
has grown stronger
since i let her in
comforting
reassuring
letting me know
i’m not a fuck up
&
i am loved.

just peachy

stick your thumb through the squishy
meat
of a peach
all the way through
feel the hard scratchy pit
with all its nooks & crannies
that is my heart
all of it
the squishy overripe peach
you can smell from across the room
& the hard
edgy
pit
all of it
all of me.

true story. i am hoping to start sending out poems for possible publication. i really do not know if any of mine are any good. i have never considered myself a poet, and when i look through my journals, it all seems like i’m sniveling about me. does anyone really want to read it? is it helping anyone for me to air my dirty laundry so enthusiastically? i do wonder…. but i did like this one. i will keep playing with it & see if there is anything to it.

contrary

i want love
i am not lovable
i want a man in my life
men suck
i want a relationship
no one wants to be near me

there’s a quick trip into my head. yay–fun! sometimes i’m all–yes! time to open up to the possibility of love. usually quickly followed by–who the fuck would ever love me?
my tarot cards are predicting a time of relationship building…& i did see a tall dark stranger on a walk in my hometown….
but of course i’m being ridiculous.
i will die a lonely mom.

just another pretty face

maybe they are
all jealous of me
as dear old mum
liked to tell me
when i was sad
& lonely
& unable to find
my tribe
the other girls
forming packs
leaving me behind…
maybe they all think
i’m just another
pretty face
with nothing notable
to contribute
sure
put baby in a corner
she’s just an airhead
just another
pretty face
…says the lady
who doesn’t even believe
in her own
prettiness.

this was written during a meeting i was at where all the other women seemed to be pretending they couldn’t see or hear me.
i would like to think that the post-fifty competition wouldn’t really be a thing…but like my mum, i couldn’t think of a better reason for being left out of the clique.

here is my pretty face 2 days shy of my fifty-first birthday

magnificent

i shouted my demons down
who told you
i was that?
who told you
you could call me
that?
i am not
what you say
i am
rather
i am magnificent
i am majestic
i am fabulous
not
what you say about me
but
what i say about me
i am
feral fey
witchy woo
i am
magical.

i have started doing this whenever i hear those fucking little demons whispering nastiness into my ear. i shout at them. i tell them how wonderful i am.
so far so good.

body image II

my body
is strong
i have taken care
to insure that…
my body
is able
i am ever so
thankful
for that…
my body
is beautiful
in its own
way.

part two to the post about body image. a bad day/a good day version of my self-esteem. this day i feel more warrior & less woeful….
or am i just trying to convince myself?
there are more journal pages to come. more in-depth look at why i feel this way…other than the obvious social/cultural pressures to always look perfect (which you would not be surprised to learn have never really affected me)

everything must go

cut me down
to size
marked off
everything
must
go
when i realize
i am worth
far less
(far far less)
than i thought
i was
it is weird
to think
i valued myself
more
(far far more)
than the rest of the world
values
me
&
here i thought
things couldn’t get
worse.

this was my pull me down to earth (wasn’t i already there, buried in fact?) thought when i had to re-price my art to a lower asking price at the physical site as well as on my etsy site and at my art exhibit. i thought i was under-pricing my art. turns out i am worth even less than i originally thought. it’s a sobering thought…. but supply & demand & all that….

sigh.

so i am not making any new pieces to sell. instead i am focusing on other projects, including doing nanowrimo for the first time ever.

so maybe it was the push i needed?
(lemons & lemonade & all that)

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