call of the wild

not quite domesticated
not close really
at all
not fully wild
too much brain
asking questions
of my heart
i am decidedly feral
i can’t follow directions
i hate being caged
i bite
i fight
too much heart
telling my brain
just hush
not wild, not tame
i am
decidedly feral
i can’t
i won’t
follow rules
running away
from convention
my favorite song
is the one
my heart sings
& i listen
even when told
but those who tout what is
normal, thereby good
that i should not
especially
when told by those
who know best
that i should not
not
listen to
that heart song
but
it is my call of the wild
it is
my different drum
& it fills me
& drives me
feral.

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embracing my grizzly heart

my grizzy heart
does not want to be
a dancing bear
in your circus
…i’m not proud…nor am i ashamed
…of how many men…i’ve made cry
i come to you
wild
not asking you
…to tame me
…to cage me
i come to you
wild
not wanting you
…to curl up in a ball
…or run away
i come to you wild
because
it is who i am
walk with me
wrestle with me
adventure with me
&
dance
with
me.

i am no longer apologizing for who i am. i am embracing myself. i used to have a reoccurring dream about being hunted by a grizzly bear who never actually hurt me. one day i realized that the grizzly bear represented a part of me that i was afraid of. after i realized that, i stopped having the dream.
i have continued to struggle with the grizzly bear inside of me. with little voices telling me how i am supposed to be. what the world expects of me. and when i try to meet those invisible expectations…part of me always dies.
in relationships i often find myself with either people who want to conquer my inner grizzly, or people who see the grizzly and just get the fuck out of there.

part of my healing is my embracing my grizzly.
bear hugs might be scary…but they are so totally worth it.

MOSES JONES: apocalyptic MAMA

i’m pretty excited about this.

i don’t care anymore what “real” comics are supposed to look like.
i do not give a fuck.
i am doing what i’m doing
& even if i die without turning a single head
i am doing
what
i
want.

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.

em is for messy.

you know how some things stick with you?
i don’t know if i read it in just one book. or if it was a re-occurring theme in books about the noble poor, but the summation in describing said poor kids:
they clothes were worn, but clean.
as if by keeping them clean, their mother somehow made up for the sin of being poor.
& for some reason this seems to echo in my mind decades after i would have first read it.
now, with four poor kids of my own.

when we go out, which isn’t too often because we are homeschooling homebodies. even my extrovert prefers being at home–he just requests that i bring people to him.
so we don’t go out too often
but when we do, as soon as we get somewhere, i notice what my kids must look like to others.
we shop second-hand (even if i did have money we would still shop second-hand) and i let my kids dress themselves. i let them choose their style. i let them choose how long or short they have their hair. i encourage them to be individuals. sometimes misha only wears princess dresses when we go out…sometimes she wears star wars pjs.
i like this about them.
but then there is the public eye. which might not even be a legitimate thing. it might just be a filter i have created to judge myself by…and now to judge my mothering skills via how my children appear in the public eye.
if you understand that at all?
i have a little voice saying to me, “your kids look pretty damn scruffy.” and i have to silence it. i have to silence it by remembering who i am and what is important to me.

don’t blame them; their mama is an artist & very distracted.
don’t blame them; their mama believes in low-impact living & does not buy extra cleaning/stain-removing product…and even before that:
don’t blame them; their mother is a terrible laundress.
don’t blame them; their mama feeds them real food that is messy–not packaged neatly & individually.
don’t blame them; their mama encourages them to play like children, to get messy.
don’t blame them; their mama has them do chores that involve the outdoors & dirt.
don’t blame them; their mama believes that there are more important things in life than making sure you put on a good appearance for the public eye.
more important things to spend your time doing than worrying if you are clean or not.

plus!
art! gardening! pets! livestock! exploration! adventure! cooking! baking! mucking about!
we do a lot of messy things around here.

okay…so i just had to get that out of my head because it was rattling around in there all morning. it has probably been percolating for weeks if not years…now it is out.
whew!
exorcism complete…now i can get some art done.

bus stop waiting

it’s probably not a good sign that i am googling things like “i just want to talk.” and looking on wordpress for blogs with “lonely” and “lost” in them. i would go on a dating site, but they give me the heeby-jeebies. i usually end up deleting my profile after a couple of hours. i end up getting way too much attention when i go on dating sites. how desperate are these people? i wonder. and i effectuate a hasty retreat.

what does it say that i find so many others when i use search words such as “lost,” “lonely,” and “just talk to me”?

maybe we are all lost & lonely & looking to talk to someone…anyone.

it’s been a long time, if ever, where i was in a relationship with a kindred spirit. someone i could open up to. someone with whom i did not feel lonely or lost. did i ever have that?

maybe. maybe once.

but i have spent a lot of my life feeling alone. i was born unconventional in a conventional small town. the quiet one. the strange one. it’s always been difficult for me to find people who understand me.
i know there are others like me.
i’ve seen the memes on facebook.
but somehow i have trouble believing they would understand me either. how can everyone be so different and strange? and how can i be so different and strange that i don’t even fit in with the different and strange?

i think i might be a different species. logical conclusion, right?

and i’ve decided that vincent van gogh is the patron saint of misfit artists. sorry. i was working on drawing while the minions made me watch doctor who. you know the episode with vincent van gogh? it makes me cry every time.

i don’t want to die alone. i mean, i know everyone essentially dies alone. born alone; die alone. all that. but i really mean, i don’t want to die alone. i want to find that one person. that one person who makes sense. and that one person who understands me.

i know that’s asking a lot.

but it could happen…right?