pea-ed off

lately
i have been
thinking of life
like
the princess & the pea
no–
the pea
is not
for me
you see
i know i am a princess
a true one
at that
for look how easily
my skin
bruises
not to mention
my heart…
the pea is for
every man
i encounter
i hand him
my pea
to see
who
he
will be
but
so far
i have found more frogs
than
princes.

this one cracks me up. but it’s true. i will think, “hey, he’s kinda cute.” then he will do just one thing wrong, and i will be like, “eww. what did i see in him?”
just little things too.
it might just because i am of a certain age with a certain history of dating any fucking mo who came along.
i think i wrote about this the other day. probably after i had written this page. everyone’s a bit of a disappointment to me right now.
yet still i wait to be crushed by the one who can’t sleep a wink because my pea is too hard. (what??)
speaking of, i am goofing off over on okcupid again.
why?
boredom? desperate but not serious? longing for a deep conversation with a nice pair of eyes?

oh! in other news, do not read rick springfield’s memoir–it’s a real stinker. like i have to tell you that.

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queen of hearts

i don’t like
the way my heart
quickens
when i see your name
i don’t like
that my first instinct
is to hide the crazy
to trod
gently
to not
scare you away
i don’t like the yearning
i feel
when i see your eyes
when i read your words…
the last thing
i need
is another
broken heart.

this was originally posted on july 24, 2018.
i used bamboo pen on the re-do. i really like it. i am hoping to get enough of these together that i can publish a book of self-portraits & free verse. so stay tuned.

this morning i was heavy with dreams. usually i wake up and can’t fall back asleep even though i don’t want to get out of bed. this morning, even if i tried to wake up, i was pulled back into dreams.
my dreams did not want to let me go.
they were fun too.
i had moved back to austin, texas & was having romantic trysts with two of my more tragic crushes.
ah…yummy.

this was written as i was considering having a crush on someone. however, that person kept being such a bonehead that i could not fully fall head over heels for him.
that’s the problem with crushes.
i’m fickle, & they usually piss me off before i can be completely crushed.

after writing about needing some mad love so i can lose some weight…i started thinking about my crushes.
other than johnny shipley, in all my years of tripping into love, there is only one other crush who did not end up disappointing me & still holds a bright spot in my heart.
jimmy phillips.
ah…he was a sweet one. even though he borrowed my toothbrush & then told me it was time to get a new toothbrush…he was still too good to be true. maybe if it’s the right guy, nothing will disappoint me. then again, both jimmy & johnny ran for the hills after just a short romantic interlude with me. maybe i only fall for impossible men…but that’s a post for another day.

so there’s the tough bit, y’all. i fall in love easily…but i fall right back out again almost just as quick.
poop.

whispers

in a moment
of quiet
i try to conjure you
your face
your eyes
how it will feel
to be near you
but i am quickly
surrounded
by the ghosts
of boyfriends
past
& i find myself
taking inventory…
did i love
any of them
or did i just love
the idea
of being
loved?
the few i can remember
loving
were just whispers
in the wind
of the storm
of my life….
mostly i surrendered
to pretty faces
who
made me feel
i must be valuable
surely
i am valuable
if they
want
me.

more borrowing from gustav klimt for the illustration.

seriously. when i think back to the 30+ men who have worked as chapters of my life…i cannot remember if i actually loved them. was i actually attracted to them?
i can count on one hand the number of them that i did feel drawn to–and those were some of the shortest chapters.
did i scare them away with my intensity? did it just become safer & easier to let myself be adored than to seek out & ultimately be rejected by the men i adored?
the ones i adored were mostly broken men. men with a sadness about them. a beautiful sadness…. those were my muses. and they all slipped away from me, leaving me in a pool of narcissists.
sigh.
i can’t say that the men i chased would have worked out any better than the ones i let catch me. they were probably right to steer clear of me. i would have just broken them more. (not on purpose–i’m just made that way.)

so i don’t know what to imagine for the one who will love me as i love him. the one who won’t leave; the one i will not leave…other than a punk rock, lumberjack poet. surely a punk rock, lumberjack poet.

i finished my journal that i started on november 2nd of last year…which means i will be updating my “invisible exhibitionist” page.

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)

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.

more memoir

i wrote a little bit more on my memoir.
there is now a page eight and a page nine.
i wrote page nine (i had started but not finished page eight at the time) after waking up from a dream about him. the whole thing felt so delicious. you know those dreams.
and i looked in the mirror–and my hair (at least in my mind) was all like super sexy super model hair.
being one of those people who have few & far between “good hair days,” of course i took a picture.
my dream was so awesome, it gave me good hair.
that says something, right?

little me

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