powerless

i hate this feeling
of being
powerless
politicians do what they
want
corporations do whatever
without
consequence
forests are cleared
oceans are poisoned
entire species go extinct
& everyone
all of us
look the other way
people die
& are abused
people
starve
& have no access
to shelter
clean water
health care
the safety
that others
so easily take for granted
meanwhile
life goes on
for those of us who live
in the bubble…
& then i have to wonder
are we actually powerless
or
just calloused?

 

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mother help us

we call her “mother”
mother earth
mother nature
no wonder they fuck
her up
so completely
have you see the way they treat their
mothers
sisters
wives & daughters?
have you seen what happens
to the mothers
in this world?
maybe
maybe
we should start
referring to the earth
as a rich
white
man
so everyone will
protect the planet
instead of relentlessly
raping
her.

another attempt to relay the frustration and immense angst i feel about the world i live in. i wish i knew how to do it more eloquently. i wish i knew how to make people listen & pay attention. i can feel the urgency of the situation in my blood & thoughts…but then the trees whisper that they have a plan.
if i cannot trust man, i must have faith that the trees have a plan.

gothic tendencies

“christian” farmers
playing god
deciding
the landscape
of our lives
growing crops
designed to fatten
the pockets of corporations
praying to god money
as the planet
& it’s people
slowly
wither
& die.

with credit to “american gothic” by grant wood,
i continue my crusade.

spinning

this is how it is
with me
i go in circles
for years
convincing myself
i am on the right path
& where i want to be
following my own lead
believing my own gospel
until one day
like a light switch
i see the fork
in the road
& i take a new direction…
never turning back.

fickle? i like the word fickle. it rhymes with pickle.
in high school my friend dubbed me a “spigot of passion.” that works too. i pour it all out, all over the place. and then i shut it off.
i
just
shut
it
off.
but, in my own defense, all the times i have shut off my passion…i have done it in my own defense. i tend to trust my heart with ones who should not even be trusted with a lesser organ…like an ear…or an appendix. i give them my heart and they use it for an ashtray and eventually my self respect, my self preservation kicks in…and i just shut it off. i shut off my love. i close it away to somewhere safe(r).

this happened recently with my seymour saga. he finally crossed the line where i could no longer pretend he wasn’t doing a tap dance on the tattered remains of my heart & soul.

so i shut it off. turned it off.
he has nothing on me now.
he is nothing to me now.

does that make me calloused & cruel?
or does it mean i still have some love left
for me? after all i gave to him…i still have
some
left for me.

okay. seriously. “me & bobby mcgee” (seymour & mine’s song) started playing as i typed the words “so i shut it off. turned it off. he has nothing on me now. he is nothing to me now.” what the fuck, universe-that-insists-on-talking-to-me-via-songs-on-the-radio?? what the fuck? so i got up & turned off the radio & put on some amanda palmer on pandora. (oh do totally watch that video…it always makes me smile.)

 

david’s battle

the seemingly
incessant
drone
as crop dusters
raid the air
above me
the earth
around me
coated in their
poisonous wake…
& i listen
to the silence
they leave behind
straining & hoping
for the hum
of pollinator’s wings
& the song
that once filled
the night air
from my frog-filled pond
dead quiet greets me now
& i lay awake
for all the noise
in my fevered
mind.

on my okcupid profile there is a question asking “what will you be arrested for?” i have a new answer now, “shooting down crop dusters.”
i am having such fantasies of holding a shotgun & taking off their tail feathers. in my mind i confront the farmers who hire them over & over, tearing their asses off most eloquently.
but i remain motionless. what do i do? i feel like i am confronting a giant that cannot even see me. i pray to the universe to give me strength & faith, but i feel so fucking hopeless about the world right now.
the crop dusters are just the super annoying poisonous icing on the cake.

i love how fierce i look in this self-portrait. i want to be that fierce. also, just sos you know…i have a lot of trouble drawing inorganic objects. that’s about as good as it gets.

burnt fingers

why have i let them
why have i let men
have the best parts
of me
giving my everything
to them
apologizing
for it not being
enough
holding torches
that just
burn my fingers.

a short poem…a simple drawing. liberally using my white space.

i borrowed from my figure drawing book (expressive figure drawing) for this one.