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Welcome Aboard!

--"Izzy, how did you start dancing?"

--"What got you into martial arts?"

--"What kind of dancer/martial artist/writer are you?

--"How do you deal with brain damage, bodily injury and 

     C-PTSD, yet still dance, write, train, live the way you do?"

--"How do you still find joy and beauty amidst pain and loss?"

--"Wow, you should write your memoirs!" 

    This Is My Story

NSFW, 18+

  • Writer's pictureBella Dancer

THIS IS FOR THE BLEEPING BIRDS! - A Poopy Pigeon Poetry Interlude

Ohhhhhhhh...I had forgotten about this poem I wrote!

Today I'm organizing the order in which I want to post the gobs of writing I've been regurgitating over the past couple months. Since I tend to forget all the things I've written if I'm not constantly looking at them, I went back through my old folders to make sure that I hadn't already firehosed some of the tales on my To Tell list.

Indeed, I had.

I also discovered a few long-forgotten gems like this one.

Early in 2017, my landlord picked a fight with me when he learned I was dating someone. Yes. He's one of THOSE types of landlords--only rents to single, hot females--which I did not know when I signed my lease. *shudder*

So, no shit, there I was! Faced with my second year in a row of an unexpected, unwanted midwinter move that needed to be completed in under 30 days. Out to the big apartment complex near the airport I went, because there were none of my favorite quaint little townhouses available on such short notice.

I really did love that apartment, as apartments go. It was pretty, functional, and well-maintained. I rarely glimpsed my neighbors and only heard them on game days. I had a gym, a fireplace, and two options for mermaid therapy, which I did around 9:30 p.m. all summer. Being nighttime, I also indulged in saving insects who had been lured by the light and lay a-wriggle on the surface, gurgling out their last in the path of my laps.

That's actually important, as an insight into my nature. Remember that HSP thing?

I even learned to come to terms with the constant sounds of the aircraft by enjoying the jet spectacles from my patio. Upon signing my lease, I had thought that planes and too-close neighbors would be the most unpleasant things to deal with.


I had never lived in a place infested with pigeons before.

In September, I visited Colorado for nearly a month. When I arrived home, I strolled out with my coffee onto the deck one morning to enjoy my customary jet-show. A flurry of wings and feathers flew into my face. A pigeon alighted upon the end of my patio railing and stared me down.

Only then did I notice the nest she had made in the corner while I was gone. "Oh!" I said, spying the pair of eggs she had been keeping warm. "Excuse me."

I am a sucker for baby animals. As demonstrated above, I'm a sucker for living creatures in general, and my heart melted at the thought that I would get to watch the hatching of eggs from a rarely enjoyed vantage point--right up close on my own patio. So I retreated, leaving the space to my new winged neighbor and her impending children. Over the ensuing days, I peeked at the progress through my bedroom window and rejoiced with all the squeeee-ing when our little patchwork family had babies.

I had no fucking clue.

Once things became clear, it was week upon week of waiting for our poor, overwhelmed maintenance guy to come and deal with my patio.

By Halloween, those flockers had multiplied to such a creepy extent that I would duck (quickly!) under the stairwell railings and make my ascent home under their menacing watch. They lurked on the rooftops, congregated on my carport, and generally menaced us in a manner that reminded me of the one time I watched The Birds. (Never again.)

And thus do I give you a little poetry interlude to brighten your day.

(Or squick you.)

(Maybe both.)



Bloody pidgeons

Every day

"Woobla-woobla" Go away! Wish I woulda Cracked your eggs In my pan Scrape the dregs Up with toast Break my fasty No idea You're so nasty! Shudder-nasty Dirty birds Sleeping, nesting In your turds Even (mother- fuckers, no!) When the twinsie Died, and so There you roosted There you shat On her corpse while You grew fat "Woobla-woobla" Day and night You just watch me Pick a fight I shall "booga!" I shall burst From my doors (You're the worst!) Scatter asshole- Neighbor-whores Smutting, rutting Ever-mores Egging, begging On my porch Really wish I Had a torch Wish I'd known what Plagues you are On my stairs and On my car On the landing On the stoop On the lightbulb Poop-poop-poop Never rest and Never wane I shall bang-bang On my pane 'Til your bird brains Get it though Or I bid this Place adieu.

Warning, friends, if You should spy Strange, sweet eggs--DON'T Let 'em lie On your porch

"Aw, mercy's sake..."





~For Rebecca Kitt-Arnold 11/28/17


--UP NEXT: Just before Black Friday (my least favorite event of the year), I had a conversation with someone about drunk driving. Well, 'tis the season, isn't it? And this year, stress is on steroids. Seems like I'm always inspired to bring up this subject around this time of year.

It's actually difficult for me to write about what happened after my first car wreck, because that's where some of my most secret and sensitive tales are buried. When I made that original blog about my initial recovery of the early 2000s, I censored great swaths of what I was truly going through.

The closer we get to current time, the scarier it is to divulge these things, because I still know people who knew me back then. In spite of changing names and obscuring certain identifiers to protect the not-so-innocent, it would be easy for them to figure out exactly who I'm talking about. That's really scary for me.

But I promised myself that if I ever shared these tales with the world again, I wouldn't censor them. So here's another piece. FROM SUPERCOMPUTER TO FILING CABINETS- My Memory After Dain Bramage

--In the meanwhile, you can find all the other shenanigans here:



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