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.

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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.

never fall again

never fall again

the last time we had sex
i could feel how much
you hated me
it oozed out of you
spat out of you
& froze my skin
burning me
the last time we had sex
i knew that you couldn’t
stop wanting me
but that you had forced yourself
to stop loving me
…needing me
the last time we had sex
you couldn’t get away
from me
fast enough
your touch was hostile
your eyes
empty.

never fall again. never feel that pain. that’s where my thoughts are these days. does he even remember me every valentine’s day? probably the fuck not. but here i am. broken-hearted.
always
broken-hearted.

maybe when i’m dead i will stop obsessing over him. or i will just go looking for him in my next life.

ack!
that’s one tattoo i leave out of every self-portrait. the tattoo i got for him…with him. the tattoo that hurt the most. and still hurts.
i think about getting it covered up…turned into something else.
maybe i would if i had some money.
so y’all should buy the book i illustrated so i have money to cover-up a tattoo that won’t let me forget where i left my heart.

fuck me.
we all know i’m never getting rid of this tattoo.

shooting star

i am not
“down to earth”
i am not
“drama free”
i am human
i am messy
i am a comet
sparks
shoot out of my butt
as i rocket
through the stars….

yes. inspired by online dating & actually part of my profile before i shut that motherfucker down.

i am still off-kilter. drawing this was much more difficult than it should have been. my hands would not cooperate with my head. i can’t say what’s wrong with me right now…other than that i need to put it right.
i need to put me right.

but how to do that?
right?
how do you fix it when you don’t know for sure what is broken? or which part of the massive mess that is you needs some immediate & intensive care?

i listen to music. i stare out the window. i watch the snow fall. i keep the livestock’s water from freezing. i drink whiskey and wait for nightfall.
there it is…some of it anyway. i don’t seem to know what to do with myself when i am not playing the part of “mom.” though i battle with that role in my life…it is somewhat necessary for me to function. if i don’t have four squabbling minions to maneuver around, i don’t know how to collect my thoughts. i don’t know how to do art. i spend my days thinking they are preventing my life…when in fact they are shaping & enhancing my life. they are creating who i am.

if i ever do find that person who is missing from my life. that other part of me. if i ever find him (i think it must be a him,) he will have to be someone who eagerly craves the chaos that is my life.
another shooting star…or someone who has wished on one.

devoured

twice
in my life
i’ve thought i found
“the one”
& both
were amazing
before everything turned
awful
twice
in my life
i’ve thought i found
my lost part
my split apart
only to want to
lose it
again
i guess i am luckier
than some
not so lucky
as others
twice
in my life
i’ve thought i found
true love…
will the third time
be the charm?

dreams of dusty and yawning loneliness leave me feeling empty & sad.
i wandered over to “okcupid” as i think i am no longer allowed on “plenty of fish”…and i am not willing to pay to look at pages & pages of men who i am not at all attracted to.

sigh.

there are all these guys who insist they want a different kind of woman. they are all liars. also, there are tons of guys who just want to bitch about how every woman is either a “crack whore” or “playing games.” what the what?

anyhoo.

so i will report back. of course i feel optimistic. until i don’t anymore.

misha wants to know why i am a bunny.
misha wants to know why i am brown.
misha wants to know why a snake is on my feet.

oh if only i knew.

ps. one of my older lambs got tangled in the new fencing i put up. she almost strangled herself, but i did get her untangled.
i guess that would solve my problem of butchering (i am hesitant to butcher) if my lambs just kill themselves….
now i have to watch & see if it was a fluke or if there will be more entanglements.
i don’t know if it would have been better or worse if i was actually electrifying the fence.