INKtober twenty-ninth

you killed the me
who thought i could be
a good
mother
you picked her apart
tore her down
slowly
…deliberately?
did you want
me
to fail?
you turn
away
every time
i show you
the pain you caused
& then i wonder
why
do
i
still
try?
it’s ridiculous
really
that i am
still
still
still fucking
trying
to convince you to care
about
me
the person you destroyed….
why
would you care
ever
much less
now?

so this took me long enough to figure out. if someone is okay with hurting me once…they are probably going to be okay with continuing to hurt me and they probably aren’t going to be sorry about it.
i’m a bit dense sometimes.
okay, i’m often a bit dense.
especially about people who i think should love me…but really really don’t.

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INKtober eighteenth

five years ago
you were a total
turd
five years ago
i spent the longest day
in unholy pain
pushing out a baby
i knew
would
destroy
me
while you denied
our relationship
while you created
futures
with a woman who wasn’t
me
while you conspired
& lied
& spat bitter words
resenting me
for the baby you planted
the baby i grew
inside me
resenting me
for still loving you
for still wanting you
five years ago
i learned to hate you
to hate the stranger you chose
over me
while i struggled
to learn
to love
my own child.

so while shopping for a madonna & child depiction i noticed something in all those paintings of that duo. mary never looks  happy or especially devoted to the often freaky looking infant lord she has birthed. she usually just looks exhausted, resigned, sad, distant.

my first pregnancy, i was all about being the mom. i was so over-the-top devoted to being a mom. the same could almost be said for the following two pregnancies. my fourth, however, planted there perhaps by some unholy spirit with a terrible sense of humor…my fourth was an accident. a very much unwanted accident. an extra ovulation in an aging woman’s quixotic reproductive system.
during that difficult pregnancy, dusty began his most destructive affair.
it is difficult for me not to remember all of that pain on this, my fourth child’s fifth birthday. when i look at that sad & overwhelmed madonna barely holding on to her “blessed event,” i can feel her pain.
as much as i love poppy, he can be a very difficult child. i wonder if he senses my hesitancy to be his mother. if all of that strife during the pregnancy permanently tainted my beautiful son. i want him to be happy, and when he is, my heart feels lighter.
but when he is angry & sad, i can feel his pain and believe it to be entirely my fault…& dusty’s.

moses jones episode 3 page 5

my brain is being pleasantly peaceful & neutral. which is great for me…but usually means no new art journal pages as i have nothing to obsess about right now.
so weird.
but! i decided to take the opportunity of having a vacation from angst to do a new page of moses jones.
fun story…just as i was finishing this page & thinking how i like the way it looks, i spilled a full bottle of black ink onto the page…and my journal…and the floor.
again, my brain took it in stride (i might have someone else’s brain right now) and i quickly chose to salvage the page first, the floor next (not realizing i had also spilled ink on my journal) and then my journal once i realized it was in a pool of ink.

so…thankfully my art is usually messy, but if it seems a bit messier than usual….
& moses jones pages tend to be darker than my other work. but this one might be a bit darker than usual…in more than one way.
i only cried a little while inking it.

burnt fingers

why have i let them
why have i let men
have the best parts
of me
giving my everything
to them
apologizing
for it not being
enough
holding torches
that just
burn my fingers.

a short poem…a simple drawing. liberally using my white space.

i borrowed from my figure drawing book (expressive figure drawing) for this one.

be the monster

three quarters of my face is my favorite face.

i just read that people who are raised with trauma as the norm get freaked out when things are not stressful.
i think i am in that place.
right not.

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