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.

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greetings earthlings

every day
is me trying to be a better
person
which is hard
when half the time
i’m not sure i’m
human

so realizing how nice it feels to get birthday greeting and how happy my kids get when someone sends them a card, i am trying to send birthday cards–homemade birthday cards to people who are in my life.

this one is for my nephew, who is a doctor who fan.

tender hearted

my pain
is my own
just because
i show it to you
does not
make it yours
i love my
tender
fucked up
heart
&
i’m not good
at sharing

i’m pissed off at everything lately. everything.
whether it is my parent’s impending visit. the anniversary of my brother’s death. dealing with the passive aggressive assholery of my ex-husband. the fact that the minions cannot go a full two minutes without screaming and jumping on someone. or that the whole world is full of hateful hurtful people yet i remain…alone…alone with my hate & hurt.
all these things.
none of these things.
maybe i’m just an irritable asshole.

my self-portrait here seems to be a re-occurring theme. of course, van gogh did himself over & over & over…add a bowler, now with a pipe…
i like posing with my demons.
my lovely loving demons.

my heart is a monkey baby

everything
i have done
anything
i have accomplished
i have done so
in a vacuum
so to speak
my life is that experiment
i am that monkey baby
clinging to a wire surrogate
left without nurturing
from the world around
& yet
despite the lack of praise
in spite of that lack of attention
i….
well
i can’t say i “thrive”
but i survive
i keep alive
the me
inside
of me

i am exploring the fact that i have never really received any encouragement in light of my recent frustration with not ever getting much or any encouragement. my parents gave me way more discouragement than encouragement. i was an honor student and won awards in art, writing, and speech…but they never seemed to notice. i did it because it was who i was…not for anyone’s accolades.

just like my current art & writings. i do it because it is part of me–not to some day have a blockbuster film adapted from one of my works.

i am calling this “my van gogh stage” because he created–in great volume–despite only selling one piece of art in his lifetime.
also, his use of the self-portrait to express himself.
however, as with my sylvia plath phase, i will be avoiding the ultimate outcome.

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?

skull island

do i always sea the sea
or does the sea seak me?

today’s drawing is a doodle ink blot. i wonder. i go into the drawings not knowing what i will find. but i often find sea creatures. so am i looking for sea creatures? or is that what i am finding?
i dunno.
but i saw a pterosaur today.
i cannot draw pterosaurs.
i messed it up–but then i fixed it–ish.
i felt like a 3rd grader because i was thinking of just putting a big black cloud over the part i fucked up. haha! i am actually pretty proud of fixing it as much as i did. it looked terrible to begin with. the end result is at least 5th grade level (no offense to the lower levels!)

however, as i was finishing this one up, i got deja vu. which happens a lot when i am drawing. then i try to remember if i drew that picture before. i wonder if vincent van gogh ever got that feeling as he did yet another self-portrait. i love vincent van gogh & all of his self-portraits–i’m just saying, “wait…did i do this one before?”

i was thinking. that thing they say about taking 30 days to start/end a habit. so i spent 31 days drawing every day. and now it’s my habit. that is pretty damn awesome. i am usually hanging by a thin thread of sanity. drawing every day has definitely strengthened that string.

yesterday, after doing “mister chicken” i started doodling in my journal where i have some ink spills waiting for my impression (today’s is also one such doodle). my journal pages are not the good paper that i do some of my work on, so i am more comfortable just messing around. plus, i was planning on sending this one in a letter to the boy of yesteryear who still owns my heart (it’s been 20 years & i’mĀ stillĀ not over him!) i write him random letters. who knows if i even have his right address. someone could be collecting these neurotic quixotic whimsical letters singing his praises and apologizing a million times for what went wrong….
but, anyhoo! this is a doodle & a letter started to said heartbreaker.

dearpete

ha!
i just read it again.
now watch, i’ll drink a beer and actually mail it.

but the art is fun, right? i thought the art was fun.