Too Big for my Shoebox

Photographer: Nicolas Sènègas

This head fuck
of name calling
of twisted tattle tales
designed to enlighten
denial, woefully inadequate
thoughtless mistakes.

Repeat

Repeating

Sorry, like an episode
for Days of Our Lives
sitcom reruns running
us around everyday
almost all day
serially on a brim
full of bullshit
on a 45.

Repeated

Bullshit,
as much as toward myself
as arrogance is arrogant —
my head is a
spinning vortex gaining
cyclonic ferocity; something
akin to time travel
on fast forward.

Repetition

Repeats

Repeating

The same old same old
he said she said
you said I said
till one said too many flew
over the fucking cuckoo
to nest – resting
between my ears
stuffing my fingers.

Repeatedly

Measuring spoons
gauging the airs
and graces; my presence
testing the water
temperature finding
temperament doused
in acidic
misogyny.

Just fucking stop it!
Fucking stop it!
Stop it!
STOP!

You’re too big
for my shoebox.

© Copyright 2015, Jodine Derena Butler & ‘Poetry Out West’. All Rights Reserved.

Savage

Dead

Shitcunt

You’re dead to me. I’m dead.

My mother with her snide, jealous perversion sticking her tongue down my husband’s throat.

Sick cunt
Shit cunt

My mother’s a fucked up, narcissistic shit cunt

and I’m a whore.

© Copyright 2020, Poetry Out West, Jodine Derena Butler. All rights reserved

Too Hard Kité

Māori Kité (basket)

Those days are over and my ❤️ is resigned.

Too many complications leave me questioning why.

I don’t bother putting my best foot forward.

I’d rather you saw me at my worst and most awkward.

There’s no point in trying anymore to be honest.

I’m too fucking angry to build rapport and flourish.

I don’t want a partner, I’m far too fucked up.

Finding friends is a challenge but that’s good enough.

You can lay it on thick and treat me sublime.

But I’m still gonna take myself home every night.

You just might really be the best thing for me.

But I’m too fucking burnt to begin to believe.

I’d rather push you away and self sabotage.

Than risk trusting you will be, who you say you are.

It’s wholly unfortunate and totally sad.

But I’ve had enough and it was pretty bad.

I like being independent, funky and fun.

I’m afraid to feel beautiful, desired and loved.

I feel myself falling and losing control.

And I fucking hate how it makes me withdraw.

But that’s how it is and for whatever it’s worth.

I think you’re ok but I’m still not so sure.

I don’t know what to do or even if I can try.

Regression takes me right back to being a child.

Then I reflect and feel all ashamed.

Knowing I’m being judged by myself and I blame.

I can feel the anxiety building up inside.

Leave me open, exposed and I lose my mind.

I’m completely imperfect, contemptible and flawed.

Selfish, self righteous and utterly scorned.

I don’t have what it takes to surrender my ❤️.

So let’s call it a day, while we can remember to laugh.

© Copyright 2020, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved

The Awkward Orchid

1.

People are orchids; cunt’s in disguise, and my tongue is already licking their splendid protruding lips like schnapps.

I’ve behaved like an orchid before – all puffed up and pouty, making holier-than-thou statements before those dreadful chinese lanterns have me boxed in, their crude hypnotic swagger acting like a prayer.

People are indeed orchids, complete with parasites and annoying bity insects that sting and suck their way into our folds like thrips; bugs spreading their shit everywhere.

But who cares?

Give me Derris Dust any day, thrips have no feelings and orchids are such selfish sluts!

How dare they open their sub-waxy petals and assault my precious beliefs, forcing me to question my disease!

How dare they splay those wanton colours around willy-nilly, when I really want to rub their ruddy faces in it!

After all, too much free love can only encourage lust, can’t it?

Lanterns are a much more suitable display of proliferation. Pyrethrum perfume is so underrated, isn’t it?

Fertilizer certainly brings us all down to earth sooner or later.

2.

Get plucked orchid!

I try my very best not to behave like an orchid. I try even harder to walk away from those flowering displays of tall poppy syndromes, but they tease me.

I try not to react to orchids if I can help it, preferring to turn the other leaf however, like all flowering displays, it would seem that misandry is misplaced.

The stupidity of self serving dwarf hybrids is ridiculed by other orchids, who would rather still remain an orchid in full bloom.

Orchids are not perfect!

If orchids could project all my vindictive hatred towards other orchids, turning them all into a mere arrangement, I’d at least have a chance at self love.

Oh wait – I touch myself all the time!

What was I thinking? To hell with orchids having their own way, I prefer to deal with other varieties whom feel cajoled into behaving like real orchids!

As far as I’m concerned, its your orchidy choice, not mine.

Same goes for feeling indignation when calla lilies become offended!

Life will always be a red hot poker if you let an orchid get to you.

Poor little victimy poor me lantern. I’m so plucking ‘offended’ by you – boo-fucking-hoo!

Heaven forbid I might have to consider taking responsibility for my own lustful thoughts!

3.

Never try to enlighten a lantern when they don’t believe they have been or are behaving like a plucking orchid!

They’ll end up sitting on you, pouring pyrethrum from a half empty cup all over your splendid bloom, convincing you that their pollen is justified.

Typical perpetrator behaviour with an overwhelming sense of entitlement.

I attract orchids like flies, never mind the thrips. I’m finally learning to recognise the subtle difference.

One sucks the life out of you, while the other annoys the fuck out of you!

4.

Of course I’m going to pick on you when all I hear are wasps!

I don’t care if it wilts your stem! I don’t care if it makes me the pair of secateurs for hurting your feelings!

I’ve picked, I’ve been plucked and I don’t accept thorns any more.

© Copyright 2019, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved

Betrayal

I leave the room for one second

and I come back to see your cock slamming into her.

You definitely weren’t thinking about me. Selfish, greedy pig!

To make things worse.

You defended her feeble excuses, tried to twist it around and make it my fault, then you left – with her.

Somehow I’m a user. A psychopath with no friends? Go figure.

You were such a disappointment. Still are.

I see your cock inside her, thrusting hard and I can’t bare to touch you or trust.

Betrayal was never a part of us or what we had. ‘I hope you’re happy now’, was another thing you said.

It’s a waiting game from here on in, till we say goodbye and start again.

It was over before it began really. I knew deep down already, you were just too good to be true. Part of me kept hoping but it’s too late for me now.

I’ll do all my grieving before we say goodbye, so I dont have to think about you then. It won’t be pleasant either, but I’ll take what I can get.

I’ll still wish you the best but I’ll never go there again.
© Copyright 2018, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved

Lady Lazarus & the Voice of Ratified Reason

“If I had the grace to fall apart respectfully, there would be no need for enlightenment”. JD Butler

He’s using me, I’m using him – both of us working on a palatable means to several ends & everyone’s happy on the dance floor, except me / Lady Lazarus, fully loaded

machinations mimicking my madness & everything I have survived is temporarily erased from my memory / the neglect, the rapes, the con artists & the turning of blind eyes. The violence

of insanity, cleansing the last of my contemptible dirty pieces. A ruse in the end, designed to ratify my plea bargain, still set to drown in a sea of toxic shame, churning

out green bile – something the dogs love to salivate over.

/

It all sounds so depressing, except for the sun that continues to rise; refracted light beams infiltrating my cracks,

forcefully illuminating all remaining fragments of hope that haven’t yet marvelled at a setting sun. I am thankful.

If I had the grace to fall apart respectfully, there would be no need for enlightenment, you would all marvel at my unadulterated halo & drop to your knees, prostrate

but I am a mere mortal woman. No God could ever carry me across the sand or walk on water or set me down on the island of my choice,

without some sort of comeuppance; paying the ferryman requires nerves of steel / I lack the will to either live or die,

in peace.
© Copyright 2018, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved

Imagination

Copper Carries a Gun

He wants to be a copper, so he can carry a gun

In public where everyone can see, the man

He wants to be a copper, so he can shoot people

Pass the buck onto a badge

He wants to join the boys club, on the right side of the fence

He wants to be a copper, so he can bludgeon you all to death

/

With a smile on his face, masking his distaste 

Joking in the watchhouse, hiding his disgrace

© Copyright 2017, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved

Gold Coast Whistleblower

Police Body Cameras Rarely Used

Rogue Cops

Dormant

Man, Martyr & Misogynist

One wooden desk

One black leather chair

One black office chair (all purchased from Marilyn)

One black laptop case (gift from Michelle) 

One Brown square lamp table; Madang

One matching coffee table; Madang (both purchased from A-mart)

One pair of jumper leads

One complete set of original Tin Tin comics (Yes, ORIGINAL)

One colour drawing of Pink 

One missing portrait (of my children)

One piece of art

One damaged hammock

One damaged gate

One damaged printer

One ruined painting

Numerous CD’s and DVD’s

/

Why?

© Copyright 2017, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved

Disastrous

All Those Times

All those times you wanted a home for the family and when I bought one, you didn’t like it and I felt disappointed.

All those times you stalked me around the house and picked the locks, and I was afraid.

All those times you cornered me, hurling foul put downs, till I stuffed my fingers in my ears to protect myself.

All those times you told me I was loopy, a slut, a whore – a loopy slut whore and I was hurt.

All those times you kicked open the door to pin me to the bed in a fit of rage, and I was struck dumb.

All those times you pressured me to buy an investment property instead of renovating the house because you were plotting way back then and I felt betrayed.

All those times you moved out, damaging property as you went. It hurt your youngest more than me, when you painted over her beautiful mural and I felt sad.

All those times you misled me, hiding behind your Samsung, and your daughter for cover, conjuring plans to deceive and I was manipulated.

All those times you spoke ill of me in front of others, your son and my friends – your friends and family and I felt ashamed.

All those times you hid your cash, pleading poverty and gutted the business and I trusted you.

All those times you forbade me to enter our shop, and denied you wanted it for yourself and your daughter and I was controlled.

All those times you refused to finish my tattoo’s, claiming you were too busy but not too busy for your daughters’ and I was left with rubbish.

All those times you said you would draw me a portrait (like yours) and have it tattooed, but you didn’t have enough money even though I gave it to you.

All those times you wanted me to go back to work, promising me you could handle it, but you couldn’t and it was my fault.

All those times you withdrew your sex, claiming you could go without and I felt unwanted.

All those times you accused me of fucking the neighbour, tradies, my boss, anyone and got upset because I sat too close to my ex and I withdrew.

All those times you threatened to expose my client, and pounded on the apartment door and I was embarrassed.

All those times you judged my friends, for no apparent reason and said they were damaged and I felt damaged.

All those times I warned you not to stop taking your medication suddenly, but you did and became abusive and you told your daughter but I was deceived.

All those times you resented my money, but took it anyway promising to pay it all back but you had other plans.

All those times you said you would do anything for me, then complain you were my slave and I felt trapped.

All those times you maligned your ex, your ex wife, your family and those who had crossed you, detailing your revenge and I felt scared.

All those times you lied, gas lighting me to my face and Police, to make me doubt myself and instill madness and I became anxious.

All those times you said you adored me, meaning as long as I shut my mouth and did as you expected and I went quiet.

All those times you said you could never hurt me like your ex’s, because you loved me, giving me a false sense of security and I became depressed.

All those times you stole our customers and redirected them to your personal email, yet I was silly for imagining it and I felt set up.

All those times you put your personal email on our business pages, but it must have been me and I felt confused.

All those times you damaged my property and denied it and allowed your daughter to do it too and I felt ganged up on.

All those times you instructed your daughter to remove texts, business files and photographs from my phone and laptop, stating you knew nothing about it, and I felt tricked.

All those times you refused to allow me to give a gift voucher to my friends and family, but you said family is always free and I felt nothing.

All those times you withdrew your youngest daughter from me, assigning the mother role to your teenage daughter, leaving me outcast.

All those times you washed your car, thrice, but wouldn’t wash mine and I felt insignificant.

All those times you expected me to cook, but said you loved cooking your special diet anyway but I felt guilty.

All those times you failed to communicate in texts for fear of litigation, so we agreed to delete them frequently so they couldn’t be used, but you secretly kept them and I was blind.

All those times you said you wanted nothing to do with bikies, their associates or the security crew but you were in cahoots with them the whole time and I felt threatened.

All those times you told me it only cost $5000 to get rid of someone and I asked you to stop talking like that, but you didn’t and I felt intimidated.

All those times and more happened but you have your own reasons for behaving this way.

After all, you were angry.

Transcript
© Copyright 2016, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved

All Is Not Lost

Photographer: Jodine Majewski

I have no ill feelings

surprisingly

God knows I have plenty of reason to feel

angry or resentful, hurt

but it’s not in my nature

I feel proud actually,

that I helped a family to have a future

I really worked hard for her, for him

I am satisfied here in my garden

now, pottering

I’ve found peace here

finally, after losing it all

on a gamble

I should have known much better too

but love is truly blind,

even though my eyes were wide open

I can’t take money with me

so I’ll let it go

they need it more than I

I can hold my head up and feel proud

I don’t have to hurt anyone

to get what I want, tenderness

I can give to myself

*

when you love someone,

you don’t do anything to hurt them.

© Copyright 2016, Jodine Derena Butler. All Rights Reserved

Bottle

Halfway 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 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’ve never truly belonged anywhere. 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 don’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 four.  I was reminded how I failed to buy books for my beautiful happy grandson.  He turned one recently. I wasn’t thinking straight, obviously. “Your new family can have you!”, she doesn’t want to be a part of that mess. By God I cried. I cried like a little baby. It doesn’t matter what I do its never going to be good enough for her. I may as well resign myself to a life of condemnation, contempt and misery. My man loved me once a long time ago. 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, leveling me, sucking everything left from inside of me. 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, ‘Poetry Out West’. All Rights Reserved

In My Face (Relationship Series)

‘Gimme the money!’

he said
in my face
my face staring straight
long lashes pointing like cutty grass
sharpening a knife

‘Gimme the keys!’

she said
between two unfinished corners
footsteps sidestepping a rusty nail
tripping over indignity
as it crawled between the wall space
catacombs

‘Gimme the fucking money!’
‘Gimme the fucking keys!’

a grab, a push and a shove
takes the piss, misses the bowl by a mile
handbags with long straps are useless.
Max was only vinyl like a 45
with a great big hole in the middle
only good for one thing

my arm hurts my shoulder plug
ripped from its wall socket
my power bill standing on end
like the hairs on the back of my neck
I guess he got the money
I can’t figure out where I put the keys

© Copyright 2009 Jodine Derena Butler. All Rights Reserved