i wonder why

i wonder why
i so easily
put others’
needs
others’ feelings
ahead of my own
leaving myself
in my sad
cocoon
of resentment.

another dusty inspired journal page. since he has been fired from his job and is waiting for the universe to drop another one in his lap, he has been messing big time with the kid schedule and spending way way way too much time at my house. it has me all out of whack.
and angsty.
i decided to stand up and say something, and he conceded to me saying, “you get your way.”
that was after two days of my saying something as nicely as i could before finally getting morose. after almost 20 years, i still don’t know how to talk to him. every approach at having a mature conversation ends with my being punished.
i just want things to go back to the way they were–where i only saw him twice a month–briefly–to drop off/pick up kids.
my life is so much easier when dusty & i are not “friends.”

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.

value impaired

i don’t value myself.
why don’t i value myself?
how do i learn to value myself?

case in point. yesterday i realized i had no idea where i had left the box full of my books i have available for sale should someone want an autographed copy.
i searched for over an hour, wondering what the fuck is wrong with me.
i eventually found the box being used to prop up my daughter’s doll house.
nice.
so how do i learn to value myself? why do i continue to make myself the lowest priority? the last person i will support?
fuck me.
(wait! don’t fuck me–be nice to me! believe in me, goddammit)

i’m glad i’m me

“i love myself
i’m glad i’m me
there’s no one else
i’d rather be”
goes the storybook
i read
to my children
& it’s true
even with all my self-loathing
there is
no one else
i’d rather be.

but i really am not happy with this illustration. oh well. some days you eat the bear. some days the bear eats you.

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

for what it’s worth

“what will you do for money?”
the question asked
when i quit my last “real” job
“i’ll get by on my good looks,”
is the answer given
“what do you do?”
“where do you work?”
“who’s your employer?”
n/a
i scribble
or
i’m a writer
i’m an artist
i’m a mother
(aka i have no income)
what is money
really
what is worth
what am i worth
to you
with no employer
with do husband
do i
still matter?

i decided at a very young age that i did not want to be part of the rat race. i watched my parents work full time & come home to watch tv. go to bed. wake up. do it all over again. buying expensive toys. worrying about money. never being happy or satisfied worrying about what they did not have….
i have worked many many many jobs. i have supported myself and still done what i want to do. i never really joined the rat race…. then i had a baby, fully intending to go back to work, but realizing that being a mom was what i wanted to be doing.
except that doesn’t pay. it’s not worth anything to anyone other than the mom & the child…& eventually society if the child becomes a functional & thriving member of said society…but, no, not worth anything.
so i became good at not spending money.
and good at not making money.
but still i have to answer this question. “what do you do?” as if it defines me.
i am a mother, artist, and a writer.
does it matter?

pretty picture

pretty picture
they say
how much?
i tell them
& they walk away
&
i spin
am i asking
too much?
sure
ink is cheap
paper too
but
i put so much of myself
in every
inking
years & years
of trying
of failing
of hurting
of growing
of figuring shit out
pretty lady
they say
what are you worth?
any price
i put on me
is going to be
too much
just
walk away.

i have now a diminished idea of what my inkings are worth. so if you want some, now would be the time to buy!
conversely, i now have the highest self-esteem i have ever had since childhood. did i have self-esteem in childhood? i can’t remember for sure. i mean, sometimes i can’t tell the difference between self-esteem & just not giving a fuck.

last day of inktober.

tomorrow starts nanowrime & my first year ever doing it.

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)

trapdoor heart

this is just something i started thinking about pets & livestock & then realized i could include most of my human relationships as well.

i am really really really uncomfortable even suggesting someone might adore me….
why is that, i wonder? hmmm

finding medusa

i’ve spent a lot of today working on my collection of short stories that i hope to publish.
so far i am calling it walk with me.

then i took a break to doodle medusa. (doodling medusa…that would be a good title for something!)
which brings me to the proclamation of how much i fucking love writing. creating. making entire universes and breathing characters alive.
and there are stories everywhere.
just waiting to be plucked & polished.

i feel like i am blooming.
as an artist…as a writer…as a person.
it’s very exciting.

and a nice change from moping.

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