dodo dreaming

when i was a kid
i coped by mentally packing
what will i take?
where will i go?
what will i do?
when i was in an abusive
i coped
by mentally packing
what will i take?
where will i go?
what will i do?
have led me back
to my childhood
& the precarious situation
of having my parents
as my
if things
my brain is already

look at dodo bird me.
i wish i could say things with my folks were magically healing and wonderful. that my mom gave me a hug and said, “sorry i was such a crap-ass mom.” and then dad would apologize for being an asshole. and then unicorns would dance across rainbows.

my mom is not talking to me. my dad is avoiding me.
mom only talks to complain about me and to sing dusty’s praises–loudly in front of me. apparently he is a better daughter than i have ever been. for the life of me, i cannot think of anything i have done to her.
whatever it was it must have been super awful.
i had dusty come down. he has the super powers of a sociopath where he can be in the trenches and not be effected.
not mentally & emotionally
shut down.
dusty is literally a life-saver in this situation.


this mighty trap

i don’t want to do this anymore
i don’t
what if
every life decision
i make
is just my setting myself up
for failure
i don’t want to do this
but i have built myself
this mighty
& i don’t know¬† how to get out
& then i find myself thinking
well…there is that one way out…
you know
the one we’re not supposed
to talk
& then i think
but when i read
an obituary
i can’t help but think
lucky fucker

this was just about as low as i got this week. of course, there is no escaping my life. it’s not like i can drop the animals off at the humane society & my kids off at the orphanage & go live on the french riviera…
instead i have to do the hard work. you know, learn how to cope. learn how not to resort to being an asshole & then hating myself & hating my life.
i guess i need to do that.

ps. though i like to draw myself nude because it seems to portray how vulnerable i feel. i have this weird (catholic?) fear of drawing my pubic area. i was pleased with myself for fashioning a “fig leaf” of sorts in this self-portrait.


i don’t like to ask
for help
i will spite myself
go hungry
risk injuries
slip deeper into my cozy pool of despair
rather than ask for help
i spent my childhood
in my parents’ blind spot
& instead of acting out
to grab their notice
i built my little throne of thorns
to sit quietly
glare & think to myself,
i won’t give you the satisfaction.
i spite myself
instead of asking
for the most human of things
why won’t anyone
i think
as i close that door.

watch in real time as i battle my demons. tonight, oy, the last week…longer?…my demons have been chewing on the cords of my self.

jekyll & hyde

no one tells you
how hard it is
to be both a mom
& a real person
that those flaws
you have
as a real person
just become
as amplified as fuck
when you become
a mom
because a mom is
both more than a real person
& less

so a trifecta of mom journal page self-portraits today…but my demons are still not exorcised.
i feel bad for my kids…but i wonder if someday they will feel bad for me.
i am trying. i really really am. some days go better. some days i am able to be a so-called real person.
other days…

this is the second one today that borrowed from a famous novel.
first i was gulliver…now i am dr. jekyll.
(or am i mr. hyde?)

out with the old; in with the new

i’m trying not to be sad
i’m trying not to lose my mind
i feel music in my soul
not quite drowned out
by the screaming
sometimes playing
sometimes fighting
my artist’s soul
& my mother’s heart
trying to live together
in my troubled

october 26, 2016 is the date inside my old journal. the day i started it. today is the day i end it. there is one page left…but i have already spilled some angst onto it and now just have to illustrate my own pain.

the first page of the new journal, also, is already decorated with thoughts fallen from my head.

i love being productive. i love looking forward to a blank page. i love writing down my silly, sad, sentimental, and sordid epiphanies to ponder with pen & ink brush.

i am not a poet though.
i thought that today when i could not think of the word for what some of you might call my “poems.”
i am not a poet.
i just vomit emotion, often & as colorfully as possible.

desperate to be heard

desperate for adult interaction
desperate to be heard
i share my thoughts with him
to have him
wad them up in a ball
& hurl them back at my
my heart
my soul

this may be weird…or maybe not, but whenever i touched my pen to the page to draw the lines of my face, i started crying.
drawing pain.
i used a mirror. i don’t usually use a mirror. but i needed to see where the lines fell.
those lines made me cry.
there is a lot of pain
in the lines of my face.

inktober 10th & 11th…ish

there’s a story behind this. but i don’t know what it is.

that was the 11th. for the 10th i phoned it in once more with a half done inking.


and it is still not finished.
my life is overwhelming.
i am very angry about being alone. about doing this alone. so angry. and depressed. and feeling like this is it. this is the rest of my life. i am essentially alone–but! i am also stuck with dusty in my life. i am stuck with raising four kids mostly by myself while their dad complains that he wants to be more involved and i have to remind myself that it is a trick. their dad is an angler fish dangling “normal family” in front of me and hoping i will take a nibble. because he never actually gets involved even when he can be involved. he doesn’t. and i have to keep reminding myself of that.
which is a lot of fun.


so i’m grumpy and moody and do not feel like doing anything even though i know that doing something would help me to feel better.

just putting pen to paper makes me feel better.