talk to me

obviously
i cannot come up with the
magic words
that will induce you
to talk to me again…
& maybe
maybe
you should tell me to “stop”
but i am pretty sure
my heart
would turn to dust
if you did
so i keep trying
some crazy stalker chick
to get your attention
recognizing
that you must know
my being ignored
only encourages me more
as i grew up
pretending
hostile silence
was actually deep
affection
a character flaw
i really need to out grow
& totally would…
but it’s you
it’s you
& i can’t stop
i can’t
please
please please please
talk to me
please
please.

it’s my birthday & i can obsess if i want to.
you know, if i ever did become famous…or infamous (really it could go either way with me)…if i ever did become renowned, this obsession of mine will make a great made-for-tv movie.

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my first post at the literati mafia

my first poem & self-portrait have been posted–go check it out. also check out all the awesome writers posting on the literati mafia.

holy crap this is the longest i have spent on a drawing/ink painting in quite a bit. usually i spend about fifteen minutes on a journal page. but this one, i did a rough in my journal (as usual) and then spent time & used good paper to do a final. i like how it turned out. funny story…i was almost done and went to put away my black ink when–ah fuck! i spilled ink on the page i had been working so hard to make less messy than my usual. but i kind of like the ink spill. i am considering making it part of my signature on every piece from now on.
the poem is a bit different as well.
(and also the same)
it’s a little more disjointed than usual. i thought i should make it into a longer more prose-y piece, but after writing a longer more prose-y and cohesive piece, i decided i liked my disjointed verse better.

it’s the same story…but with a little more effort.

emje’s world

i really don’t understand
like a sick
like a suffering animal
could you just tell me to
stop?
put me out of my misery?
if you want me to
stop
you should know
with the life i’ve had
i only thrive
on rejection
on being ignored
i only try
harder
to be seen
when you look
away
please
just say “stop”
if you want me to
stop
otherwise
i will never
give up
on you.

i often examine my behavior towards seymour and wonder if i am harassing him. if i were a man, and he were a woman, i think it would definitely be considered harassment. i don’t believe in double standards…yet…one of my therapists assured me that it is different for men than it is for women. i mean, a woman might play along and not say stop because she is afraid. she stokes an ego for her own safety.
but why doesn’t seymour just tell me to stop?
i would. i know i would.
it would hurt and i would want to keep reaching out to him–but if i knew for sure he wanted me all the way out of his life, i would respect that.
but he never says it.
granted, he never says anything.
and like i said in my journal page, being ignored is not a deterrent for me. it’s just a signal for me to try harder.
thanks to my fucked-up childhood with parents who ignored me pretty consistently. thanks to always being attracted to people who ignored me in relationships.
thanks to growing up as a sensitive wallflower.
being ignored is just part of life.
i don’t want to be ignored…but being ignored is its own attention. seriously. when you make an effort to ignore someone, you are–in a weird & fucked up way–paying attention to them.
let me stress, fucked up way.

i want to ask him.
i want to know.
but part of me is scared of the answer.

ps. i drew a naked version of this painting “christina’s world” because when i drew a version with clothes on, it looked like i had crawled right out of a japanese horror movie. so i did me naked (again) so that i could maybe try to get the position to look natural. however, i neglected to get my back fat in there right. i tried to be true to my back fat, but i don’t think i quite captured it.

foot note

once upon a time we sat in a room
where i lived
& you visited
just to see me
& we looked at our feet as we brainstormed
how to make
money
your feet with so much character
reminded me
of tree frog feet
magical
my feet, i said, would be the picture
in the dictionary
under the word
“foot”
boring
a million years later my feet are not so
perfect
as they used to be
but they still remind me
of you.

in my dreams

you were in my dreams last night
all of them
sweet dreams where i laid my head
on your chest
& hoped
that i would always feel that way
as i stared
into your warm brown eyes
hoping that you would always
love me.
how am i supposed to live like this
without you?
how am i supposed to embrace
the loneliness
of a life
without
you?
you are the ghost that haunts me
the haunting that leaves me
repenting my sins
you filled my dreams
last night
& now
i just want
to go back to sleep.

truly madly deeply

i will gladly
spend my days
chaste as a monk
letting my passion
spill
onto a page
if it means
you will come to me
at night
if you will fill my dreams
every
night.

remember that movie? truly madly deeply…with alan rickman? if you haven’t seen it, do. it’s a totally amazing, funny & sweet movie.
that’s me. living my love affair with a ghost and avoiding real life.
except my ghost isn’t dead…he lives in philadelphia and resists all my efforts to woo the fuck right out of him.
between him…i am going to go ahead & call him “seymour” because that is his name in my confusion perfume comic…go ahead & go read that if you haven’t already…between seymour & dusty…i feel like i am ruined for relationships. seymour because no one can live up to what he is to me, & dusty because i am afraid everyone will live up to what he is to me.
so!
being that i have always been better at fictional relationships anyway (i used to date the young paul newman as well as the living james dean when i was in my twenties,) i am just going to go ahead and have a fictional relationship with the man who left me 22 years ago.

before last weekend & dusty’s visit, i did my tarot cards. my card (the card representing me) was skill & it was crossed with/conflicted by physical pleasure. in short, i need to focus on creative efforts, my art & writings as well as my family & homestead…but i am distracted by my own loneliness.
so i made this deal with my subconscious, if it lets seymour visit me in my dreams at night, i will focus & hone my creativity by day.

so far so good.
i mean, in my dreams, i am trying to absorb every bit of what i feel being with him so i can keep it with me always…& when i wake, the dreams bring a certain amount of comfort…but they also fill me with a sad longing….

but that’s good for art, right?

self-portrait with bandaged heart

self-portrait with bandaged ear

it seems i am unable
to not
fuck things up
sabotage
is my secret weapon
against myself
do you laugh
or do you cringe?
silly stupid
crazy hostile
me
do you laugh or do you
cringe?
when you left
you left
a hole in me
for 22 years
i have worked to
deny it
fill it
fix it
mourn it
claim it was never there
& cry my heart out
over it
but i imagine
when you left
all that remained of me
was an
echo
maybe i am cursed
maybe i am
silly stupid
crazy hostile me
if anything
if everything
i am
ridiculous
i am ridiculous
who does this?
who holds on like this?
& why?
what will become of me?
another 22 years
limping along
living despite
this hole
this missing part?
i guess that is it
others have hurt me
but no one else
has left me
feeling
split in two.

if i were a van gogh…or a bronte sister…or adele, maybe this would be more romantic & less disturbed.
am i disturbed? or is it just that my heart knows what it wants
despite my best efforts to make it shut up and grow up and get over it already.

but i carry my cut out heart in a stained handkerchief to hand to the one i love.
figuratively speaking.

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