the prison of me

i need to break out
of the prison
of me
i’ve built some high
walls
dug some deep
trenches
it
won’t
be
easy
but i need
to be free
of me
(not all of me)
just the bits that
whisper
the bits that
scorn
the bits that kill me
a little
at a time
telling me
i’m not good enough
not
brave
enough
not ready for the world
the bits that tell me
to just
go home
& hide away
don’t even try.

inspired by my tarot card reading that asserts i am creating my own restrictions to my happiness (with some help from the ex.)
but i need to break out of the groove
i have set
for myself
first.
then, maybe, i can stop letting others put me in boxes.

my fault

this was also written during a fight with dusty as we try & fail to move forward.
watch as i start to spiral downward….
alas…hopefully this was only a setback.

backwards II

i was having a really really bad day. i think all the work to move forward needed to somehow balance itself out?

these are thoughts that whirl inside me when i am plunging into a dark space.

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 own reflection

alone
who can i blame
but me
alone
my screams
fall on my own
ears
alone
i look at my reflection
really look
this time
not me reflected
in someone else’s
eyes
but
me
standing before
myself
will i hold
myself
up
or push me
down?

i’m thinking of changing my look. i think i could pull off some faux fur. and maybe martinis might be in order.
i have been sober many days now…it is not pretty.

i am going through some stuff.
what? no? not you!
yes, but different stuff. like my usual stuff is sorted & put away, and now i am on to new stuff.
i feel like i am trying to wriggle out of an old skin…but i am struggling to get that fucker off my back.
lots of anger & snarky behavior…which then causes a spiral of guilt & oh-my-god-i-suckness.
fun fun fun.

i wish i knew how many layers this onion has…how many more levels i have to do before i win.

this is a card i’m sending to my sister for her birthday (shhh)

sustained on rejection

am i sustained by
rejection
like a panda
surrounded
by bamboo…did rejection
become my staple
& now
now that the bamboo
is scarce
do i actively seek
rejection
lumbering
past greener pastures
to find my
desolate
patch
of bitter rejection
where i can sit
uncomfortably
& gorge myself
on defeat?

one of the problems with not always being able to illustrate my thoughts as i write them (this one was written 10 days ago & i am just getting to it) is that i do not always remember what sparked my free verse ramblings.

my childhood was a big pot of rejection. out of six kids, i was nobody’s favorite. my younger sister (closest in age to me) was mortified by me & even suggested i do myself in. my peers at school actively avoided me. i was charlie brown on valentine’s day. i eventually had to go to a neighboring town to find a boy strange enough to kiss me.

so…did rejection become a familiar “friend” that i sought out as my adult life began? seeking out the boys who didn’t want me. focusing on them. throwing myself, relentlessly, at them. sending out stories to publishers without first attaining the necessary writing skills. staying on the fringes. watching, but never joining.

do i still seek out rejection? will i ever stop expecting rejection? will i ever believe i am good enough that i will not be rejected? has it become a self-fulfilling prophesy that keeps me exactly where i am?

just some musings as i wait to be rejected by a publisher & an art award…not even entertaining the idea of dating because–look at me–who the fuck would want this?

the other day i read my tarot cards. they told me that i need to learn to like myself. they told me to stop obstructing myself. to stop living in fear of moving forward.
but…i am not sure i know how to do that.
they never tell me how to do it.

i wake up crying

i wake up
crying
i am
crying
for everything
about everything
the dead goat
in my garage
the toilet
that desperately needs
cleaning
my lost youth
clothes that no longer
fit
the blood that flows
out
of my body
the bickering of offspring
the
non
stop
bickering
of offspring
my own
shortcomings
my own
lost
emotions
my cold cold
heart
my being trapped
penniless
with no where to go
no one to love
me
no one will
ever
love
me
i cry for
everything
i wake up
crying.

there are probably better things i could be crying about. like the state of my country. the suffering of so many people…everywhere. the dying oceans. vanishing species. clear cut forests….
i wish i could rise above my own misery to find a way to help ease the misery of the world.
but my overwhelming life just crushes the life out of me sometimes.

blue me

it’s when
you’re feeling the most
self-destructive
that you are least
able to
embrace
self-care
self-love
self
acceptance
thrown under the bus
when you need them
most
instead
you burn bridges
alienate friends
hide under a rock 
avoiding your yoga guru
your morning routine
your
brisk
walk 
in fresh air
while saying fuck
fucking mindfulness
in the ass
while pouring another
drink 
and re-living every horror
every 
moment
of pain
or better yet
burying it all deep under
an avalanche
of 
forced smiles & 
no, really, 
look how good i’m doing.

this is one where i wrote down the rough thought & then tried (tried!) to flush it our while transcribing it.
also, i never wear high collared shirts because apparently they make me look like this. 

in other news…

i have a 22 year old “fan” over on tumblr who is flirting with me, & it is making me oh so uncomfortable. i wonder how men who date much younger women do it. i mean, i guess they just don’t care that there is a huge gap in what you know, what you’ve experienced, how much you are actually going to get of what i say….
bleah.
then my ex-husband (dusty fucker) texts me to ask if i am pregnant because we had “unprotected sex” a month ago. conveniently forgetting that i got an IUD after poppy was born.
or, rather, a year & a half after poppy was born–having refrained from sex for all that time because he was being a fucking asshole.
but, then, when i had the lapse of judgement of reuniting with dusty, under the condition that he be in a monogamous relationship with me, i agreed to get an IUD to prevent any further minions appearing. again, with the condition that he be monogamous. 
well, shocker. he lied to me, & i got an IUD while he continued to have sex with other people.
strange that he would forget. 

just so you know, the sex a month ago was a one time thing to get it out of my system–and it totally worked. 

i have been journaling about confidence and about the undeniable fact that–though i am lonely–i am choosing to be alone. so you have that to look forward to once i get around to doing the illustrations.

yee-ha

home sweet prison

i have created
a life
i want to escape from
i built
my own prison
just so i would have a reason
to tunnel
to file & chip away
to avoid
reality
by any means
necessary
i have done this
i want to guess
on purpose?
…but
why?
my life is the rat on the wheel
running
& running
but going
nowhere
a life
fashioned
for escape
but no
actual
escape.

i just don’t even know what to do with me anymore. today is a wash. what the fuck, emje?
ack!
it’s like–sure, i can see what’s wrong with me…but i have no fucking idea how to fix it. i’m just like in my head saying, “you’re just going to fuck this up too, you know.”
that’s me. that’s my life.

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