defender protector
where are you?

This girl that
I miss her

I am angry

slow shifts
like a cool metastasis

radical revolutionist
revise yourself

wax your light spark
wane the sunset fire

love into it
she is there.

The cool depression of the snotty cry.  It seeps into your bones; feels like a stain you will never remove.

This is the part often omitted.  It is not pretty.  It is not the pity party.  It is the simple normalcy of life changed.  Who would not be angry, sad, and depressed?  Pretending and envisioning the forever sunshine mind is a fantasy.

And where fantasy is wonderful and important; when dark-reality is present; shaking its hand and saying, “yes, I know you are there.  It is okay.  You are not wrong.”

The funny paradox that to simply admit it; somehow makes the it a little lighter.

You know what I am angry about?  I am tired.  I am tired of the fight.  So stop fighting I tell myself.

I am angry I am tired.  I am angry at the expectation exploding.  I am angry at my obsession to find “function”.

What do I mean?

I was written off many years ago.  By a sick doctor told that the abuse I suffered had damaged me beyond repair.  I should give up.  I should simply accept I will never see the kind of function I seek; a productive member of society.

I sought after all the government help one can seek after in regards to job training; job finding.  He told me it was a pipe dream and asked why I would even do so.   “For someone like me”. . . . the what and the how I wanted.

Truth is, in one aspect this person was correct.  Giving up the traditional notion of “function” I would be better off.

People in my life said, HERE, is your gift.  In your art you will find refuge.  This is where you find your way.

With love and support, Here I am.  The image above is from Brave House Secrets.  Brave House Secrets; a step full out in the open of a desire to break barriers of the shames and secrecy of experiencing violence.

As uncomfortable as I am in front of a camera, I love this picture.  I feel my exuberance of engaging and touching confidence.  Eyes are up instead of looking at the ground.

This work is gonna travel.  My husband and I, traveling where invited; where I seek; where I am welcomed to share.

That is all I ask.  This is all I wish.

Come, sit a spell.  Talk to me.  Talk to each other.  It is here we all shall find our way.

Not the success.  Not the failure.

Not the look at me; here is how I overcame my circumstance.  You know what I am talking about.

There is nothing wrong with this.  But this not what I am talking about.

I am talking about the gut-raw energy; connective tissue of real life.  How do we support each other if we all simply talk about sunshine up the arse.

NO.  Instead, don’t stop visiting the sick and the dying.  I have experienced that in my journey.

Don’t know what to say, or do.  I feel that.  And, the visits become sparse.

How do you think the actual sick person feels? Do they feel helpless?  Do they feel the same?   Do they know what to do?

So just sit; have a cup of tea? Enjoy the flowers growing in the yard.  They are still the same flowers.  They are still the same cups of tea.

We are still the same people.

Life is life-ing hard right now.

I look at a picture of myself and I pray into her.  I do what I always have done which is fall hard into art.  Art is the foreshadow, the trust, the okay girl hide behind me awhile.

Difference is today, I also call a friend.  I am more honest in words.

Accepting that help.  Accepting that love.

Giving that love.  Sharing that help.

I felt above that that girl was on her way.  Wow, look at me!  I am doing it!  Ha Ha!  Nobody is gonna tell this girl she can’t!

Who says but me that I am not still that girl.

Nobody.  I don’t want this detour.  I am scared.  No, I do not have the same feeling that things are going to be okay.  I don’t know.

What does that mean anyway?  of course they will be okay.  They are what they are.

Life is still the same beautiful life surrounded by incredible people.

Don’t count yourself out girl

Out of my mouth yesterday came words I never thought I would hear myself say again.  proving my worth.  That I was worthy of existing.

oh, how these things seep into our present when we least expect it.  I still despise calling these things PTSD a category of mental illness.

I find it a slap in the face if you must know.

I still say violence is NOT a mental illness.

So what is “Edible Beauty” ?  I am not sure yet, but I know it is a meditation walk in the journey of loving yourself; and the low frequency vibration of knowing you are an infinite being power, love, and light.  And, the first installation will be in September.  This gives me hope; a goal; motivation; accountability.

Coming to the College of Southern Idaho September - November 2017
Coming to the College of Southern Idaho September – November 2017

We are all superhero(s).  Forging life as it happens.  Together. Humanity.

I won’t give up, so you don’t either. okay? agreed.

paint much love, always,
Connie Karleta Sales
a.k.a. This Crooked Little Flower

*feature image courtesy of Track 13 Gallery, Nampa, Idaho


Posted by:Connie Karleta Sales

artist, poet, educator, public speaker, founder of This Crooked Little Flower, and thriver!