Manga Popart Butterfly

Manga Popart Butterfly

Tuesday, February 20, 2018

Dear Universe:

February in Swamplandia, Louisiana

Thank you for free podcasts.

They calm me
on endlessly long,
pain-filled, sleepless,
lonely nights.

Even my cats
listen, mesmerized.

The constant fear



This week's podcast obsession:


Sunday, February 4, 2018

Dear Diary,

How sad is it that I have to
get comfort & someone to hear me
perfect strangers at the
suicide hotline?

"I hear that you're feeling
overwhelmed right now
& that you're carrying
a heavy weight."

Me:  Boo-hoo-hoo!

Lonely & sad
but still alive...

Saturday, January 20, 2018

Dear Universe:

My life makes the Biblical Job's life
& catastrophes look like a comedy.

Why me?

I am a shattered vase
violently thrown to a brick floor,
on my naked knees, bleeding,
my fingers & knees crimson---
trying desperately to gather the
shards of my existence and
glue it back together.

It's not working.

I wake in violent pain, emotional,
physical and spiritual---every
weary, endless fucking night. 
Nightmares of my
death by his hand haunt me.
I wake in a cold sweat.
Auditory hallucinations
plague the nights.
Sleep is hopeless.

There is no adjective capable of
describing the depths of my
weariness.  I'm tired, dead tired.

I've never been this alone or unloved.
My family has deserted me.
It's like I'm dead, but I'm not.

He walked out on me.
He almost strangled me to death.
He punched, beat, & pulled a monstrous
knife on me.
He forced sex on me for months;
I am emotionally wounded beyond repair,
suffering severe PTSD...yet I feel
It's like he killed me that day...
I wish he had.

I'm so, so tired---
almost too tired
to live.

January, 2018

Saturday, December 2, 2017

Dear Universe:

Why me?  Why now?
How much loss can one heart stand
before ending it all: the pain & loneliness?
Why?  Why my fucking cats, for fuck's sake?
You took 2 of my cats from me!  WTF is that about?

Nobody wants an older woman.
Nobody even sees me.
I am a ghost in an invisible house.
No one sees me no matter where I go.
It's a painful thing, to be here but not...

I may as well be dead.

Why am I still alive?

December, 2017

Wednesday, September 6, 2017

Dear Autumn:

I was mowing the front yard,
one-fourth at a time, when
the pain forced me to rest.
Upon finishing a row,
one bright red leaf
fell on the sweetly-scented grass

and there you were:


Wednesday, June 7, 2017