Lilith & the Incubus


Here we go again
for those of you sick
of this shit – Karma

Happiness, eludes me
over-analyzing everything
searching for that choice to make

Looking to purpose choose life
simplicity a complex solution
blind, numb, lost & forgotten

My brain hard-wired my eyes shut
Persistent Depressive Disorder
convincingly sees only what was

Nothing gets any better
I’ve never known anything different
happiness is Far Far Away, folklore

Farther apart I age, no wiser
life flashes before my eyes, wasted
it’s a miracle I have survived thus far

I may as well be dead
it’s like I’m dead
I feel dead

Burdons not just my own; contagion
leaching into every soul I touch
Incubus fornicate in my sleeplessness

Pervasive nightmares & thoughts
leave little light – my aura
hedonism postulating pleasure

Shit shows on at 4am

Doom & disaster, spiritituality
leper colonies shun; shamed
beyond toxicity

I am cursed
so is everyone in it
locked up for my own safety

© Copyright 2015, Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved

Common Threads


I’m nearly 50 years old, but I feel near on 90 on a good day. This past week has been absolute HELL on earth.

I’ve been triggered back to being a child, around her age. Losing her felt like losing that innocent part of myself years ago.  I was so traumatized I thought about ending it all.

But to my credit, my common sense and my will to survive intervened,
giving me a serve.  My man became a man in my eyes. Not just another man. Not just any old man.  But my man.

I love him to my core, him loving me back tenfold. Trauma has an ugly side, it brings people to their knees where they may as well be pissed on while their down there. I am so worried for her.

How to reach me when I’m in that state is almost futile.  Almost. I hear them knocking, butting their heads up against my brick wall, the double thick English brick kind;  multiple layers of insulating red.  I pretend it’s nothing more nothing less.  I don’t care.

But then my beautiful man sat with me drawing a diagram. A shoebox to be precise.  He explained how pain lives in a shoebox compartment in my brain. Overwhelmed with pain and grief, I go inside, lift the lid and relive the dark past over and over, ruminating from the beginning again.

I felt ashamed.  He lifted my chin to meet his gaze, he held me there, he loved me more in that moment and I trusted.

“It’s no good” he said

I’ve been looking after my man and her for nigh on 3 years, in my own way.  Not in a traditional way.  I’m a hopeless cook, I don’t appreciate housework, so I’ve been neglectful at being the proverbial ‘good’ housewife.

My desire to grow flowers, fruit and vegetables is my compromise. I’m at least growing something edible to put in the kitchen – for someone else to cook.

I have been holding us all together in other ways though. Collating, copying, pasting and writing what he wants me to say, listening intently, focusing on keeping her safe and sound, staying consistent, loving her with gentle kindness, building a nurturing garden for us both (her & I) to enjoy, complete with Minions!

I’ve been renovating our home so that it will become beautiful. So that everyone will see, find that remembered piece of themselves there so they have a sense of belonging my own children lack.  I want them all to say “I’m coming home”.  I want my beautiful, bitter, twisted, naive, angry children to come home too.  I don’t think it’s ever too late to love and to be loved in return.

I’ve helped us all to get to here, each doing their own part but at the 11th hour, I failed.  We were let down and we had no voice.  We were all mute, blind, deaf and dumb in one single sentence.

The system of things is definitely flawed.  I could go so far as to say corrupt but that would be making an unjust statement.  I feel for those in the hot seats, being forced to call the shots knowing many lives are at stake.

But I have no sympathy. Our truth was not heard.  Our fatal flaws not even our own, but did the professional explain her actions?  A resounding NO echoes through my shriveled neurons finding dead ends. My synapses have nothing left to ignite.

My family is broken.  My family are in shock.  My family is slit right down the guts.  My entrails have threatened to turn me inside out.  We are apart.  They with themselves, only I am here in my beloved home – away from home.

He said to me I was no longer going to carry the torch through to the next stage.  He will.  He said that for my sake, and for the sake of my family who cannot watch my fire fade to black, my candle flickering in the wind, me sinking lower and lower into grief, watching my abyss dragging me into its depths.  It’s time for me to heal.

I am broken.  I can no longer hold all my pieces together.  In my mind I let go and disperse like millions of stars on a clear night.  I let my inner self die that day a little bit more.


I retreat to my room with 4 walls, no windows and no doors.  There is no light in there. The world out there ceases to exist and everyone in it.
He gave me hope and understanding beyond anything I have experienced through years of therapy.  He wrote down 5 mathematical equations.

1.  PROBLEM: My problem is being torn from my beloved stepdaughter who may now be placed in danger I have no control over

2.  INTAKE:  Difficulty coming to terms with the interim decision.   Fear for her and risk to her mind, body & soul. Fear of losing her altogether. Fear at reliving her trauma when she comes back.  Fear of listening to more disclosures.  Fear of not knowing where to get help for her. The bottom line is I’m afraid.

3.  PROCESS: Allow myself to grieve, feel the pain of the last 3 years. Express my anger appropriately through my poetry. Talk to people who will listen; this can not simply be fixed.  Seek comfort from my husband, stepdaughter, my mother-in-law aka Granny, accept love and support from selected friends.  Gather strength, wisdom, hope and positivity

4.  STRATEGISE:  How to turn my breakdown into a learning experience, into a chance to heal my past hurts and injustices.  Trust that she is resilient and loved unconditionally. She will rise above her trauma and see the same light we all shine for her. Me, I will have more therapy, learn to forgive but never forget and give myself time to heal by tending the earth, ripening my fruits, finding pride in harvesting my love and feeding my family

5.  EXECUTE: Eat regularly even when I want to heave, to sustain my body.  Drink water to nourish my mind and organs.  Routinely sleep by reading with a cup of Milo, regenerating my dreams.  Waking with no nightmarish thoughts but finding more I can do to make my garden grow.  Knowing she is being loved all the while.

Right now I need peace.  A chance at laying to rest my traumatic past.  I have so much to live for and I need to be well to achieve my hearts desire.

I love my family.  Jason, La Donna, Whisky, (Carmen), Madison, Granny…even my beautiful, spoiled selfish children Leisa & Karmin who are still too young to see the wood for the trees or realise that not all flowers smell delightful – except the Rose.

By realising that the world doesn’t owe me a God damned thing, my children will learn a much harder lesson than I.  I forgive them, and I always will, over & over. The thing about trauma is that it can only hurt us if we let it.   I refuse.

Myles will remember he said something similar.  I hope you are smiling wherever you are my friend.

© Copyright 2015, Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved

Half-way House


I have a beautiful husband.
Loving beyond anything I could ever ask for. His children are gems. The littlest one is an Angel I swear! I miss my man even when he yells at me and says the worst things imaginable in his pain.

The man I once knew has eroded away before my eyes. He doesn’t remember how he loved, except for his children and rightly so – they are himself and they were stolen. I understand that, I do.

I only wish the love I feel for mine is returned in my lifetime. Mine are gone. It seems everyone I love disappears.  I take the blame. It must be my fault.

Some days I don’t want to be here. Some days I want to fade to black, let that white noise sing me a lullaby and take me home.

I lived in many houses once, and my worst nightmare continued. Maybe I relive that moment when I was stolen, against my will. It took me years to find solace in that place till the time came for me to leave. I was homeless, loveless and inconsolable.

I did my best with what I knew, made decisions I thought were the best for me and mine. I still feel their eyes upon me, watching me fail and imagine them raising a toast to my demise. Such is life.

Whatever I try to do, whomever I try to love, it seems like none of it returns.  Sometimes I feel like a desolate child,  still.  I’m nearly 50 and I have nothing left least of all to give myself. I exist from day-to-day listening to a monologue of misgivings and self doubts that continue to remind me I never belong.

When I’m gone, I’m still nothing more, nothing less.  Of course there are those that profess to love me but that’s only so they can make penance for their own sins – you know, make themselves feel better. That sounded so jaded I can’t really mean it.

I made the most selfish half-hearted attempt at finality. I was chastised for buying my beautiful step-daughter therapeutic books to help her heal.  She’s only 4.  I was reminded how I failed to buy books for my beautiful happy grandson.  He turned 1 recently. I wasn’t thinking straight, obviously.  My new family can have me.  She doesn’t want to be a part of that mess.

My God I cried.  I cried like a little baby.  It doesn’t matter what I do its never going to be good enough.  I may as well resign myself to a life of condemnation, contempt and misery. My man loved me once a long time ago.  Now he sleeps at his mother’s, temporarily.   But it’s not so bad.  His daughter is here to keep me company while we wait for our littlest princess to return.

My home may as well be a halfway house.  Where is the love?  I’m too hurt to see anything beyond what’s yelling at me.  What’s leveling me.  What’s sucking everything left from inside.

I sit.  I wait.  What will happen next? Your guess is as good as mine. My machine parts are too rusted, too many salted tears have cut through all the bullshit. It’s just me and always will be.

© Copyright 2015, Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved



‘I don’t recognise myself anymore’

That fool,
That blind stupid fool
Whose face lit up and smiled like Cheshire – following you everywhere, once
She saw the sun shine out of your arse like a fractured halo and dared to love you
it’s gone
And all I can think about is how to sign off, how to extricate myself from my humiliation;
That cacophony of cackling voices

The concept of love is as corrupt and meaningless as the world in which I live

Its not for me
I want out, I don’t want to look for anything to look forward to, or to be reborn
to have love fail and rubbed in my face like spent semen again and again
I want oblivion, finality
One painful life is enough for me

How can love co-exist anymore than Buddha, Allah, Jesus or Mary?

I am truly blind, and my refusal truly will offend
I’ve swallowed my insecurity, like my black & white thinking and let it corrode me like acid from the inside out
All that was left of me departed many many years ago
I can still remember that cold damp smell of death…
I should never have been allowed to live!

I think about death and dying
I am like that single stone that skips a few beats before it sinks to the bottom, out of sight, never to be thought of again
There is absolutely nowhere left for me to go
I am a shell of what I once was
A hollow husk of withered cells, dying my slow and agonizing death
Angry for being so magnificently vulnerable in contemptible self loathing

And to think that there are those among us who want to live!

There’s that optimism again,
I should feel blessed except everything feels jaded, burned and extinguished
Life just isn’t worth living
I guess that’s my ungrateful selfish nature showing her true colours,

© Copyright 2015, Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved


when I was born
I was an orphan:

illegitimate problem child
doted & despised

promises were made
& broken

carpets were pulled
knives were drawn

ashes & best wishes
dead & buried

I don’t belong to him or her
or them,


& my favourite line
is snivelling


© Copyright 2010 Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved


An emotional midget lives inside my fettered mind.
The sprite kind, green as the Irish
young, like Danu’s children dancing,
invisible to most save Fey.  She is gullible,
easy prey for those with nothing better to do –
they say opposites attract: I am like rat bait.

She is not quite right in the head my sprite
but don’t get me wrong,
she might have a little hunch in her brain stem,
walk around muttering under her breath,
but she is conjuring up Narcissus
in an attempt to fill up the holes in her white tunic.

How she came to be this way is a long story,
suffice to say that public humiliation is akin to Oedipus Complex
with a tiny bit of Penis Envy on the side;
there is nothing quite like having an orgasm at someone else’s expense.
If you are a man, well I guess you just grew a little taller,
women, maybe just a little bit smarter.

My sprite has been known to feign a smile.
Rather than cower in the corner, she has worn patches.
I heard this one woman say she would never
have plastic surgery on her face, in male company of course,
then make an appointment to have her breasts enlarged,
the bags under her eyes lifted.

I wear my heart on my sleeve most days melancholy.
She plays while listening to The Pied Piper
watching hoards of people leave single file.
Emotionally speaking, she is not known to accurately sift thoughts;
binge eating her way into the Guinness Book of World Records,
one defiant leap of blind faith at a time.

My wee lass likes to be alone, but craves
the company of others so she doesn’t have to hide.
Once upon a time there was no such thing as social isolation,
the preferred title was Witch rather than loony toon.
She thinks too much, trying in vain failing miserably;
second sight may as well be as viable as the second coming.

In my mind, my confused emotional midget state of a mind,
I am wondering where she has been and where I am going.
Most days I re-live the past with distorted accuracy
staring into the wide blue yonder sitting on my desktop.
She looks out on to a Google landscape, straining
I can’t see the wood for the spam.

© Copyright 2010 Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved