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---> disclaimer <---

the motley turtle journal. here there are words. sometimes art. sometimes it will be raw. showing up in poems. creative non-fiction. mature content may show up here too. trauma. depression. anxiety. abuse. molest. & curse words. it is not my intention to offend.

Most Days

most days i am fine or maybe i just pretend they say you must behave in order to believe i’m not sure that’s true for me i’ve pretended most my life i keep trying though maybe i’m not doing it right
most days i am fine some days i’m not shrouded in the darkness of near suicidal thoughts they say to reach out sometimes i do to the deafening silence of someone tip-toeing around
most days i am fine life is just a mess sometimes the mud and the muck are too much to bare there’s no justice to be had for the things that have been done to me some things are what they are eventually i will heal
most days i am fine some days i am not they say you have to love yourself that’s not what i learned other’s would decide if I had any worth so most my life i’ve waited for the others to show up
most days i am fine some days i am not learning who i am despite my broken heart acknowledging my path sharing stories untold writing crappy poetry
Recent posts

After The Panic Attack

Now that I'm breathing again and reading and making art and writing.....

yes, writing. 
At the beginning of 2016 I destroyed all of my hand written journals. You read that right. I ripped every one of them to shreds. I had flipped through a few and decided that they just made me feel horrible. They were page after page after page of venting and complaining and whining. The same rubbish over and over and over. The same pain and disparity was scribed page after page; journal after journal. I decided that I needed to tell stories and resolved to stop regurgitating the same chewed up feelings that came out as mostly anger and frustration.
For a while I kept the shreds in a paper bag in my art loft. I would collage some of the shreds onto art journal pages. When I had to pack up for our move a year ago, I tossed it all into the recycling bin. Our new home didn't afford me a studio and I had to purge a lot. 
Eventually I deleted all of my digital journaling too.  Since then I have…

A Moment of Truth

I've been wallowing in the dark places lately. Once you're in it, it's hard to get out of it. You fight against the flow and try to swim against the current. It takes a while to realize that until you relax and let yourself float on the surface, to just go with the flow, you're not going to get out of it. You'll just drown.

     I was home alone yesterday when I had a panic attack. Pacing through the house like a caged animal who couldn't find it's way out. Looking out the window and knowing there was a whole world full of life and people beyond my view, but I had no where to go and was too afraid to leave. 
     I kept sitting down at my desk, then jumping up and pacing. Bawling my eyes out. The thoughts came so fast and furiously that I couldn't hear them. All I could hear were the shattering bangs as they hit the back of my mind.

     Then I felt her. She told me to stop.  "You're having a panic attack." She placed her hand on my …


she shoos away flies
from her freshly poured coffee
wondering how she got here
this place of self loathing

where all her thoughts are angry
resentful and dark
hating everything about her life
feeding her broken heart

she isn't suicidal
but she doesn't want to live
not like this anyway
broken to bits

she tries to pick up the pieces
one shard at a time
wishing and hoping
this isn't all she has

told she has the power
to change her life's plot
to rewrite the story
she so often tells herself

but the voices that crowd her head
won't go away
wondering how she got here
to this place of self hate

srh 2016

Sunday Morning Ritual Returned

i awoke before the weekend alarm on my phone went off. having a new puppy will do that. so will a body that is getting a little older and your once cast iron bladder is more of a wrought iron. heh.

it was a delightfully cool morning, still in the 60's. certainly much cooler outside than it was inside. i pulled myself together, poured my cuppa and let my little rug rat out of his, bed. together we headed out to the back. he ran for the lawn, turning to make sure i was watching, and i sat in my favorite spot at the table on the deck. he quickly ran back for good boy praise and a training treat for doing his business outside. this potty business is a work in progress.

my daughter and husband slowly arose and headed out for their sunday morning ritual on the tennis courts. i settled down for mine.

in the few hours i have alone on sunday mornings i enjoy sitting on the deck with my planner and iPad. i wrap up my week, plan for the next and do a little reading {usually the l…


she lingers in her mind examining thought finding the blank spaces sniffing dark parts abandoned wishes misplaced dreams memories of fading kisses
she lingers in her mind smoking a cigarette sipping coffee listening to untold regrets feelings hurt waves of depression
she lingers in her mind feeling old and exhausted her fiftieth year about to end her life seems lightless too late to begin
she lingers in her mind this shit has to stop it's never too late to be what you are to go where you wish to do what you like to inspire and create streaming light
....using the Hanks App on my iPad. The vintage typewriter sounds help me to not think. :) This is an unedited stream.

Trust and Try

fire burns within her bones but she keeps putting it out turning over the ashes from childhood doubts
left to her own defenses she swirled deeper into darkness deeming herself unloveable insignificant and worthless
nearing the age of fifty she desperately wants out she pounds on the edge of light but no one hears her shouts
she pushes and she struggles but nothing seems to give and she wonders if she'll ever learn how to live
to dance and sing and smile and praise to get outside of this lonely cage
the gate is open all she has to do is fly spread her wings trust and try
to fly