I have a thing for broken men
I am no fixer, I just want to lay next to their shattered pieces
Cut my cheek on jagged edges
Taste blood as it runs down my face
And I tell myself this is what alive feels like
Knowing the both of us are really dead
Slow bled out a long time ago
But the truth is never real as long as you say it isn’t so
And I’ll probably never leave you if you tell me not to go
I am unhappy
But it’s my favorite dress and I tend to wear it so well
How it fits like a glove over the exaggerated swell of my hips
Just past the honey bee tattoo you used to lick and kiss
But I haven’t seen you and your tongue is fast becoming a memory
Visions of our future are slowly erasing, fading
Trading themselves in for loneliness and neglect
The irritable clench of your jaw as I pleaded and I wept
For the us that I thought we could be
Watching your passion transform into apathy
It was beautiful sad, it was just like you
It was sleeping late curled up in bed …the countless times you’ve never come through
I watch you stop caring and I withdraw further into myself
Tell me, are you so much in love with yourself you have none to spare for anyone else?
Or maybe just a little more for me
See, I’m a bit tired
Of waking up to missed text messages that I wonder if you sent because you knew I was asleep
And of leaving voicemails laced with desperation after the sound of the beep
Wishing for time and touch with abated breath
Flat lining on this table, you are the surgeon with each incision I fear you will call a time of death
Love doesn’t live here, didn’t give enough notice when it left
and I am being evicted in its wake
Let me stay, give me more pain I promise you I can take it
I am a pro, an underdog a masochistic hero
And besides, I am a lot more crazy than you know
I have thing for you
I am obsessed with your shattered pieces
Let me lie prostrate, and let’s sit in silence as I worship
At your feet
I’ve been reading articles lately—trying to find out what psychologists have to say about ways to love and, more importantly, ways to keep it. Something about retaining it is not my strong suit; it always slips through. Or, I hold on too long and I don’t know when to let it go and stop trying. People are hard to read these days, they don’t tell you when they’re through with you, they try to hang on to you while simultaneously reaching out to something more, something BETTER or just different. Society is insatiable and cruel. I seem to only be left with the prayer that everything will end up alright in the end—because I’m tired of spending a relationship’s duration flinging cheating accusations and keeping tally of love lost and considerations that slowly diminish with time.
I can’t stomach another break up—break apart. I don’t have the mental capacity to deal with this level of trial and error; the stakes are too high. I’ve given of body and time, spirit—pieces of me I won’t be quite so generous with the next time around. I’m only 32 but kind of feeling like I’m getting too old for the “next time around”. After this age it seems like we’re all kidding ourselves, arriving at the door with too much baggage and only the worst parts of ourselves to offer because we’re too beaten, broken down and plain selfish to offer up the good parts…the naked parts. Tell me, where do you hide your good parts?
No matter the outcome—of life and so many things— I suppose there is comfort in the possibility of finding peace within my own self-worth, and power in knowing I don’t have to force someone into validating that for me.
*All artwork in this blog post courtesy of Loveland Art. Please click the link to check out more; also follow on Instagram: @lovelandart.
Happy Birthday to my favorite artist, Salvador Dali!
To honor and celebrate this day, each year I try to collaborate with my best friend (another favorite artist and painter) Traci, and I’m really excited about our plans this time around!
Tune into the blog all this week as we combine the world of creative writing with modern art, as I’ll be sharing poetry and writing pieces to go along with her visuals. I feel honored to be involved in this collaboration. Traci is an up and coming artist who produces bold works that never cease to pull at my heart strings and inspire me to be better, work harder and feel all the things. Please please follow her blog: A Purple Paintbrush, and visit her website www.tracilturner.com to view and purchase more of her works.
Undive ~ Traci L. Turner
I swim, to the middle of your river and
Let me drown
In my own expectations and frivolities– all the lies you’ve said to me
The scent of you all over me
Washed in these waters; I can’t get clean
Or rid of the stink of reality
If the illusion of truth lies on the surface
I choose to sink
Never to emerge from underneath
Too broken and damaged
Apparently, my little ass cheeks are causing quite the controversy. I write this post cheekily (pun intended) because I don’t know what the hell else to do. Something I was compelled to do artistically has caused a bit of a stir– which is to be expected, I suppose– and I was not prepared for the backlash. So, I’m a whore now? Ok, cool. Buuuut, someone felt the need to share and point this post out to my Dad. Say it with me guys, Awkwaaaaard!
I don’t share this post to blast the person who did it—but to put myself on blast and display. This 29 year old woman spent the entire night bawling her little eyes out and seriously contemplating taking down the previous post. It’s not that I am ashamed of the picture (the final pic of the photo shoot spread)– it’s the fact that someone felt the need to point it out to my FATHER! My honest thought process is that you would see the same amount of skin on me if I had a wedgie at the beach, but I don’t go with my dad or my family to the beach. We are pretty damned modest around each other and I didn’t want him to see it because he’s my dad and he’s not going to read what I’m saying and try to feel me or connect with my soul, he’s going to say, “Crap, I messed up—my daughter’s a whore!” I think the rule of Dads is that if your daughter’s ass is on the internet you’ve failed as a father. I respect that, rules is rules
I’m kind of laughing about this now because this is how I handle all obstacles in life. Underneath it all I understand the implications of what’s taking place. I have considered taking the picture down, but I can’t let go of what it represents. It will remain, and the art of it and the accompanying post will speak for itself. For those that called me courageous, please take it back. I am a wimp and I care way too much about what others think of me. As a result of the negative feedback, I almost immediately crawled back into that box that I am expected to live in and returned to my “good girl” status. Enduring the consequences of this post is not going to be easy but I will try to fight through it. Sorry to disappoint those who thought they knew me, but just know: even if I’ve gone completely crazy—I’m happy here.
That’s a wrap!!! I just finished the official Embrace the Crazy photoshoot with my dearest homie, Justin (Facebook page: JusPose’ Photos)! He did a great job working with this awkward girl– and special thanks to makeup artist Angela with Classically Beautiful (www.clasicallybeautiful.com) ! Stay tuned, the full shoot and blog post coming soon!