reminded of you

what if
everyone
i ever fell in love
with
what if
every
crush
every obsession
every
unexplainable
attraction
was my seeing
you
in them?
what if
all these years now
i have been
falling in love
with the parts of
them
that remind me of
you?
that is
if someone can be
reminded
of someone
they’ve never
met
not in this life
anyway…
but someone
i can feel
in
my
heart
nevertheless.

my version of gustav klimt’s judith I.
i used bamboo pen & ink brush. i really really like the way it turned out.
i did not see the head in her hand until i was at that part of the painting. i turned it into the head of the “you” in my poem. now i realize it is intended to be the decapitated head of the man judith seduced to save her village.
tomato–tomahto.

ps. there is only one page left in my current art journal. endings & beginnings.

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contemplation

i have been thinking a lot
about crossroads
decisions
choices made
going the wrong way
like a runaway truck
i have been
thinking
a lot
about fear
why was i so afraid
of you?
why did i run away
every chance i got?
i have been thinking a lot
about needs
about spending my life
unwilling
to need
anyone
would you believe me now
if i said
i am ready
willing
able
to need you?

artist’s note: do you ever get done with a sketch, just waiting for some ink to dry, admiring your work & feeling pleased with yourself, and then the small children chase the dog over to where you are working & before you know what’s happening, the dog jumps up and paws your wet ink? i am pretty sure this is why virginia woolf told us to find a room of our own…..

sharp stick

my cruel
subconscious
that two-faced
cunt
has to know
what a mess i am
(it has a front row seat
to my pain)
so
why does it wait
until i am
asleep
vulnerable
to take a stick
&
poke me hard
in the tender spots
with dreams
of you?

nothing like a fresh obsession to get the journal pages going again.

while i wait for my latest case of obsession to pass, i am thankful that i am not really able to ride my bike past his house three times a day as he lives three states away.
and i have a houseful of kids
a yardful of critters
depending on me to not jump in the river of crazy and swim away.
so there is that.

strong in the force

i can feel you
in my bones
like a nostalgia
you can wear
snug
& warm
comforting but suffocating
i can feel you
& i watch
for you to
somehow
wander back into my
life
while telling myself to
knock it the fuck
off
i can feel you
in the tears
i can no
longer
cry
but
still
do
i can feel you
like an impending
thunderstorm
the smell of rain
anticipation
hope.

it has been almost five months since i have looked at his instagram. but i did look, after the dreams started. and he is in illinois. chicago, at least.
and i can imagine him coming to see me.
i can imagine it so vividly.
the look on his face
what he would say….

there are just two men whom i have actually, truly loved out of the dozens–yes dozens–of men whom i have known, you know, biblically….
once loved…always loved. that’s how i know the love was (is) true.
how do you forget something like that?

you don’t.

it pops up in your dreams to haunt you & you find yourself doodling him as the leia to your luke. (before it was known they were actually siblings)

haunted

in my dream
i was on a blind date
i knew it was not
going to work out
but i ordered pad thai
anyway
& tried to make
conversation
when
suddenly seymour
you were scooching in
next to me
your arm slung
over my shoulder
whispers
in my ear
in my dream
you filled my senses
& my date
was forgotten
of course
i left with you
& when i woke up
i was left
without
you
but i clung to the dream
the feeling
not letting it fade
i held tight
like every other time
i dream
of you
i clutched it close
& wondered
if you knew you were in my dream
& wondered
was i in
yours?

is it because it’s christmas-time? is that why my brain is torturing me? or is he thinking of me & i am so fucking empathic that i can feel it three states away?
or is he closer? home for the holidays?
oh my god. i was barely thinking of him. i thought i had let him go.
is that why he is back?
fuck a duck.
i had the dream sometime during the night. it was not the only dream he was in, but it was the one i held tightest to & kept with me until morning, etched into my brain so it would not fade away.
when i got up in the morning and walked into my kitchen, of course the time on the clock was his birthday.
7:28
how many times do i see that on my clock and try to pretend it means nothing?
well, merry fucking christmas.
i got a haunting.

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.

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.

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