white picket fences

do oddballs
get happily ever
afters
hallmark family photos
where
the dad
is smiling
being a dad
do weirdos
get second
chances
after they choose the wrong
guy
hallmark family photos
where the stepdad
is smiling
loving the kids
as if they were
his own
do freaks
get white picket fences
&
sunday dinners
&
a shoulder to cry on
instead
of one
that
turns
away?

feeling a bit like the orphan looking through the window of a happy family.
i know there is no such thing as normal & hallmark moments…or is that just something we misfits tell ourselves to make it through the night?
i know social media is designed to make everyone & every life look perfect & enviable…
but i still sometimes cry, knowing that there really is–on that profile page–a man who knows how to be there for his wife & kids, and that there is oh so definitely not a man like that in my life.
never has been
in my life
not my dad
not either of my husbands
not one of the dozens of men i’ve dated….

and i cannot bring myself to believe that the odds are that tilted against me. then i know it must be me. then i feel stupid, awkward, ugly, & unwanted. not even an orphan…i am a stray dog with three legs and matted fur bound to be euthanized when no one adopts me.

crap.

i would apologize for the melodramatic pity party…but i feel too sad & gross.

just for the record– i am almost never naked in real life (and my wings are not so visible)…the nudity is symbolic of my bearing myself via my art journal self-portrait series. also, it is an effort to normalize natural bodies. or that’s what i tell myself. maybe i just don’t want to bother drawing clothes….

love lost…heart formed

to say i was a lonely & strange child…i was a misfit…watching the world around me & not understanding. not at all.
then, i don’t remember when, i met a girl who i understood & who seemed to understand me & it didn’t matter what the world thought of us because we had each other & could be perfectly odd together.
then we turned sixteen.
& i became weirder while she embraced the popular….
my first…big…damaging…shattering even…heartbreak.
& i stayed on the fringe.
i felt safe on the fringe.
barely knowing people. not letting them see me.
until one day
when i was twenty-two
i met a boy
& we became fast friends & then we became more & it felt all meant to be–he seemed to really see me–but i hesitated & it ended in terrible betrayal
i stayed me…he became someone else…someone i know longer knew & i wondered if i ever really knew him…& my world fell apart all over again….
i wonder…
but i don’t believe
& here i live
lonely ever after….

a lack of enthusiasm for inktober

so october 7th i drove the minions through the flatlands of illinois to collect this new member of our homestead:

we left in the morning and did not get home until almost five when poultry has to be fed and sheep watered all while trying to get the new baby to eat (he was pretty pissed off about being taken away from his family–no wonder–and it was a day before we could get him to accept the bottle.) plus i had to relocate the bunnies to a puppy pen so i could use their dog crate for quixote’s “stall” in our sunroom.  as well as feeding the minions, collecting eggs, putting poultry away….
so it was after seven before i got a chance to catch my breath.

and i just did not feel like doing inktober. so i phoned it in and used an inking in progress as my seventh day:

inktober7

which i then finished for the 8th of inktober.

which brings us to yesterday, the ninth. i wasn’t sure what to do. i decided to just do some journal inkings.

my first one came out like this:

inktober9

and i was all like, “what the fuck, em?” i thought about posting it…but felt really conflicted about it, for some reason.
art for me is a meditation and an exorcism.
what is going on here then?

so i tried again:

inktober9(2)

and ended up not posting this one either. i was convinced people would hate them and be, like me, wondering what the fuck is wrong with me.

i want to keep doing inktober–because it is fun for me and keeps me creating….
but i’m not sure i want to share anymore.
it feels like i am putting myself out there…to no avail.

i’m just weird.
misunderstood.
a misfit toy.

…a strange lady.

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