with eyes pouring like rain
into a leaky boat
squaring off the shoreline
heading out to sea
avoiding Redbacks
like the plague
negotiating rogue waves
behind his back
facing his fear; ex
tended arms pull
away — escape
for a moment.
He scans the horizon
left to right that sinking
feeling farther, closer
than he expected denial; a river
too far away to row a thunder clap
into eternity
Isis turning a blind eye
Triton drags him
under, spinning
a vortex only Terra
firma can translate.
Taking the bull
by the horns he finds
solid ground wrestling
knee deep in mud that sticks
like shit on the inside,
cobwebs cling to hard
wired neurons
lodged in the gaps
in between grey,
a matter for the black
and white.
Separate facts find
fiction fornicating
in a web of deceit
by design, too lurid
for children like
Persephone – abducted
innocence; a metaphor
for rape choking the Hell
out of life, all the while
pseudo affection bribes
a handful of lollies
to sweeten the blow.
Atlas Justice was sitting in his Dad’s boss chair. His Dad was the boss and things would get done or he’d say ‘FUGAZI!’ and hang up the phone!
Atlas watched his Dad doing his work, sorting things out, making things work. He knew when the Bat Phone started to ring, that Dad would have to deal with some other things.
Atlas ‘The Little Don’ loved Dad’s chair, he would chair dance with Mama J when he wasn’t there. They’d swivel and twirl, backwards and forth, round in circles and Dulcie Doh!
(Atlas was in a world of his own)
When Dad was away he liked to just sit, in the big boss chair while he twisted it. One day Mama J moved dinner to the desk, she sat down beside him, like she did with his Dad.
The Little Don respected the big boss chair and made no extra mess anywhere. He knew it was important to be respectful, he was not going to get into any trouble.
‘One day’ he thought, ‘I’ll be a big man!’ He wanted to be just like his Dad. Atlas was grinning from ear to ear, he knew that one day he would get there.
He wanted to say ‘FUGAZI’ too, to all those twats who doubted him. ‘I’ll carve my own way in my head and show Dad how hard he had worked’.
The Little Don Atlas loved his Dad, he knew he was a decent man, made of old school honour and grit, he wanted to make Dad proud of him.
He’d learn to speak and become a man too and show his Dad how much he loved him. He’d sit in the Boss chair and he’d say, ‘I love you Da. I always have’.
Dad woke up on the wrong side of the bed, Atlas had come in and pissed on his head! A mouthful of urine dribbled down from his chin, ‘for FU*K’S sake Atlas, GET OUT OF IT!’
Dad wasn’t off to a very good start and Looby had let off a foul smelling fart! He finally dragged himself out of his bed, and fumbled his way to the toilet instead.
The first pee of the day was always the best, Dad closed his eyes and listened to it. Atlas and Looby had followed him in, then all of a sudden it was silence…
Dad opened his eyes confused a little bit, he was still peeing but couldn’t hear it. He looked down at the toilet and what did he see? Atlas holding a cup under his stream! ‘for FU*K’S sake Atlas, GIVE THAT TO ME!’
Atlas looked at Dad’s face with a mischievous grin, then quick as lightening started drinking it! Dad looked at Atlas who was way off the chart and thought ‘this kid of mine wasn’t quite right’.
Dad had a shower and the kids disappeared, ‘this didn’t bode well, they’d be into shit!’ Dad hurried to get dressed and he braced himself, he was expecting carnage so he held his breath.
Dad had been right, they were up to no good, he walked into the kitchen and stood there stock still! His mouth dropped open as he looked all around, ‘for FU*K’S sake Atlas! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE NOW?!’
Atlas had opened the pantry door, Two Minute Noodles were all over the floor! He’d been in the fridge and freezer too, all the doors were left open and he’d emptied the food!
Looby wasn’t much better she’d found a toy, ripped it to shreds till it was destroyed. She had pulled out the stuffing with her fine front teeth, it was everywhere even on the TV!
Dad’s face was all red, he was about to explode, ‘if this shit continued, the boy would be sold!’ He’d place a sign around his neck saying ‘Free to a good home! For FU*K’S sake Atlas! THIS IS NO GOOD!’
Dad tidied and cleaned and put stuff away, there was SO much mess it would take half a day! Then he remembered the kids were downstairs but all he could think was he couldn’t hear noise.
He walked down the stairs hoping for the best but any minute now he’d run into the mess and sure enough as he rounded the corner, he could see the tap on and a flood of water!
Atlas had shoved facecloths into the plug, the water had no where to go except out. Up over the edge of the tub it came pouring, all over the floor and down the hallway. ‘for FU*K’S sake Atlas! THIS IS ANNOYING!’
Dad had had enough, he felt like a wreck, he’d hardly had time to wake up correct. Almost every morning he had to deal with this, he didn’t know how he was still coping with it. He felt defeated and wanted to cry, he needed to have a long time away.
Good thing it was Friday and thank God for Mama J, she was having Atlas on the weekend for two days. He refocused his energy and got Atlas to school, he’d deal with the mess later that’s all he could do.
Atlas and Looby were no where to be seen, ‘Oh no!’ thought Dad and raced back upstairs – just in time to see Atlas piss on his bed! ‘for FU*K’S sake Atlas, GO PISS ON YOUR OWN, and while you’re at it, GO GET A JOB!’
When he got home and looked all around, he felt very sad and very overwhelmed. He let out a sigh and one single tear, people really didn’t have any idea.
Dad life wasn’t much fun in the sun, for a single parent family with an autistic son. There was no support for Dad for respite, he tried everything but no one was right.
Atlas was high risk so care was specialised, there was no one to handle him who was qualified. Not only that but he needed two carers and the fund didn’t cover all these expenses.
Dad pulled himself together and cleaned the whole house, did all the washing and felt proud of himself. He packed up a bag for his weekend away and gave thanks for his beloved friend, Mama J.
He had an hour to himself before collecting the boy so he had a wee nap with Looby the dog. He drifted off all snuggled on his arm chair and started to look forward to not being there.
Jack, steps back and waits, his head bowed in deference. A shudder circulates through his body and returns to his groin where his pathetic little worm jerks awake momentarily before it retreats, almost disappearing.
Domina, hazmat suit fitted, respirator adjusted and hands fully gloved, makes one final survey of her apartment noting everything in it’s rightful place before opening the door.
‘I see you followed my directions correctly, eventually’, she quipped.
‘Place your shoes in the bucket and strip’.
Her deadpan face and hardened stare conveying a don’t-fuck-with-me stance.
Domina’s new fetish was playing out like a Hunger Games episode: full lockdown, curfew and quarantine rules apply.
‘Follow me’, she commanded, leading the way to the bathroom.
‘Shower, put on the hazmat suit and mask and come into my den’.
Jack does as he is told, noticing the hairs on his arms and neck bristle and shrink back as the icy air-conditioning slaps his skin.
He’d been fantasizing about this day, ever since the first wave of Coronavirus (Corvid 19) swept across Europe, with Italy almost decimated in it’s wake.
It reminded him of his mortality, the beck and whim of governments and George Orwell’s 1984 dystopian nightmare coming into fruition. It made him feel alive, on the contrary, gave him a reason to live out his last days letting go of the old ways, going out on his terms.
Domina was a survivor. Gone were the days of luxurious 24 hour bookings, champagne and wads of cash. It was adapt or die slowly in her isolation, knowing her body wouldn’t be found for weeks.
These were the days of demeaning quickies and blow n’ go’s for a fraction of the price and the odd apocalypse fantasy that gave her just enough extra to remember how she once felt secure. Now, she controlled her working environment to suit and insisted on safety protocol.
Jack looked at himself in the mirror, putting on his mask. He was reduced to an anonymous automaton. Nameless, faceless and nothing more than a number in a system designed to suck every last drop of humanity from his wretched soul, if he even had one. A nobody. A pitiful excuse for a human being. He wanted to feel the humiliation of his meaningless existence played out one last excruciating time.
Domina watched her pain slut enter and ordered him to get on all fours on the bed. She picked up a 1 metre length of flexible plastic pipe and gave him six of the best in quick, hard succession.
/ / / / / /
Jack felt the weight of the whole world reign down. Searing pain shot through him and waves rippled along the length of his flacid cock awakening from it’s morbid slumber to stand at attention. It was all he could do to stop from crying out.
Jack knew he would fail, miserably and so did she.
I am about to publish my first book of poetry, being released in New Zealand and Australia. My collection of poems have been edited by the lovely Andra Jenkin (New Zealand) and myself with their new format soon to be updated, in excerpt form, on Poetry Out West.
My book will be available for purchase in all the usual places. Watch this space for book launches (Australia and New Zealand) and a chance to get an autographed copy.
Lady Jane breaks out into a smile, allowing her eyes to wander over Ashcat – watching play unfettered magnificently, staring at his beautiful body wanting, waiting for kisses & licks to parlay, his hands moving mountains.
2.
Ashcat, completely at home & grounded, giving; a generous lover of life & people (like she used to be before trauma showed her ugly), he takes the cake with no false pride – her ego aside.
He leaves her pinched – the tweaked kind (still not quite sure she made it out of purgatory), but all she can think about is decòr, finding that perfect vintage pattern, making bunting & a vendor box full of surprises.
3.
Lady Jane heal’s, while showing up under every stone who fake really are; womanizing, homophobic, racist, misogynist, hillbilly rednecks with mother complexes, she steer’s well clear.
Trust mistaking bogan’s for diamonds – fake faux for everything they’re worth (consciously unaware) & yet here he is authentic, laughter lines up between them & light sparks beam.
4.
Ashcat, full of life’s sugar & spice; saffron, baked Spanish cheesecake, sorbet & wine, swings 1920’s while Jane’s fat lady croon’s to wild cherries & Winehouse electro beats, ushering in new sensations where she doesn’t want to wipe that smirk from her face.
He hands her the mic & confidence soars, roaring through the midnight tunes ecstatic. He breaks out into an albatross the moment she hits her groove, arms pushing & pulling – MC funky time grinds her way into heaven, deliriously happy.
5.
It’s been an age in-between gigs, bands & dance halls, where her voice belted out highs & low’s to crowds of private dancer’s & partners swigging on beers, peering through plumes of green smoke. Auckland, on any given weekend seven years ago.
A complete cellular cycle gone by, where she sold it all for a plane ticket & a ride on a rollercoaster at the Cairns Show – the only thrill worth repeating. Now, she rolls back the years side-stepping potholes & speed bumps, without checking out her rear view for crazy motherfuckers, riding up her arse.
6.
A trip to Port with the top down blow’s the cobwebs, converting sea beans into tapas & something that blow’s her mind instead of arachnophobia (crab slider’s as close as it gets to eight legs). One brief unpleasant memory is replaced with a multitude of self soothing layers.
7.
Circus hijink’s at the yacht club – neon hoola hoops, Lady Jane wearing a purple corset handing out lollies & buxom beauties swanning about fanning burlesque, a sea of legs two-stepping tuxedos, federer’s & fancy candy canes. All it took was a little effort, a time machine & something worth fighting for on their part.
Both of them look karma in the face, willing everyone around them to join in the feast; happy, pulling them out of their own little world’s into old school vintage frivolity. It doesn’t take long for contagion to spread outward in waves of pure, pulsing momentum & before you know it, Lady Jane is whisked off her feet, Ashcat taking her flapper hand in his leading her astray backstage.
8.
An after party, extends to more bubbles & a jacuzzi full to the brim – delightful mayhem unfolds as Lady Jane unfasten’s her corset, Ashcat losing his cravatt & all of their twisted innuendos culminate in uncomplicated hedonism; flesh, tripping the night fantastic!
Lady Jane doesn’t complain. She has it all & Ashcat is himself in all of his illuminated glory; batting those thick lashes, his deep brown eyes a beauty to behold. He smiles before ordering another round, his mantra postulating pleasure & someone slips up, spilling yet another cocktail.
9.
A late afternoon checkout sky, invites their bodies to embrace, Lady Jane rolls over & Ashcat fits the mould perfectly, heavy breathing stirring slumber from an evening full of stars.
“Hillary…she’d be the first to ride her rodeo on the back of a silver bullet” JD Butler
1.
War, a battling agent designed to glorify ancient ruminating mores; thoughts, aided & abetted by Kim’s immortal unicorn’s & Trump’s small penis syndrome spouting poppycock, two death stars on a collision course designed to yield maximum impact, vaporized along with sanctioned collateral damage inside a nuclear vacuum.
2.
My brain is not unlike a chemical weapon, a ballistic missile without the regime change; two opposing hemispheres, except it’s lights out for North Korea & more freedom for America, but thats nothing compared to the super sonic shit storm about to rain down over the rest of us plebs, leaving no other alternative but to join in the furore or bite down on a little white capsule.
Japans fucking proverbial rainbow is the least of my worries – China has that angle covered & Putin’s KGB weighs in on their diplomatic psyops by looking down the barrel of a sniper scope. I’m surprised Trump’s still alive, he wouldn’t be if Hillary had her way, she’d be the first to ride her rodeo on the back of a silver bullet.
3.
We all have demons. Some just have the power to mobilise millions of indoctrinated patriots to do their dirty work for them. Turnbull wishes he had balls the size of Dutton’s border force – the good ole Australian way preferring to torture & torment whole nations into submission & we all know how that ends, except we keep the fight alive by abjectly refusing to surrender. Sound familiar?
Good old divide & conquer tactics they don’t teach you in school. If we all had little red button’s to push, we’d all be dead right about now, that grey slate wiped clean once & for all, but you can bet your bottom petro-dollar you’d need two corresponding red button’s to be pushed simultaneously somewhere else, by someone else for it all to go away. Anyone with a brain bigger than a peanut would have beaten the shit out of their button by now, with a big red hammer rendering them both useless.
4.
I’m tired. I’m tired of listening to monolgues of bullshit – diatribes of voices I recognise & once knew, who taunt me in my waking hours & consume me in my torrid nightmares. I’d like to find a cure, a single dose that does away with it all overnight, waking to find a gigantic mushroom cloud on the horizon, my zombie-like state basking in its afterglow.
What the hell can any of us do anyway? Hippies are all psychedelic has-been’s & the internet’s got us all dumbed down with information overload, a juxtaposition if ever I’ve witnessed one, the fact is we’re all sitting on our fat arses in front of mobile stargates, waiting for another 9/11 false flag attack just enough to distract us from our disease!
5.
In the meantime, my mangled ovaries sit beside ghost fallopian tubes, in the void between surgical clips & internal organs, floating in intraperitoneal liquid; a vacuous black hole inside a deep space continuum, along with hubris.
Anne Frank was here living in squalid conditions, only to be ratted out by patriots in 1944, Gestapo herding her and hers out like cattle transported far, far away from this place.
Just like the world today, history repeating in Chechnya where gays are sent into concentrated camps, denying their existence as the world watches with a limp dick or wet fish and everyone has an arsehole about Syria.
Patriots still hide behind fascism, racism, Islamo-xenophobic’s beating their sunken chests to within an inch of their white male privileged lives – nothing more than vitriol!
Passive narratives join in the furore, patting collective backs up against invisible walls dividing more than the usual apartheid regimes of monopoly – needing a change? Freedom comes in sanctioned collateral damage, onlookers merely pawns in the battle for world domination and white suited supremacy, lead by Uncle Sam of course!
My world is tainted, leftist humanity tipping the balance in favour of compassion and tolerance, set to split my heart in two where atrocities are rendered into political manipulations; illuminated lies and propaganda.
Religion sets the scene by revisiting inquisitions and crusaders choose selection over perception again, and again failing to unlearn the inevitable apathy and indignation that comes from slavery.
Amsterdam was once a safe haven till in her final hour she succumbed to insanity, and I remember Anne resisting adolescent outbursts in her diary – not unlike our Facebook counterparts where truth is confused with censorship and fake news by design.
I am here in Amsterdam with the weight of the world at war against my back, looking for salvation in the past, lessons to consolidate so that I can pilfer some sort of peace of mind from the rabble.
Mushroom soup set to lift the lid off my self imposed restraint. If only I could find a way forward that doesn’t leave me looking over my shoulder, and cannabis prohibition just makes no sense at all!
Longing for that balance to tip where I am appreciated for my self while belonging to no one, safe in my tulip tea party knowing I have a place to call home to go back to, is no consolation for rejected refugees.
My heart has an ancestry here in England, Ireland, Scotland, Spain and France with an Australian convict deportment threatening the sin of a potato famine, back to New Zealand where it all began.
If I’m not careful, I will be made to do penance against my Will and I don’t believe in god! No gods ever made sense to my rationale or their behaviour, and those postulating as priests are nothing but wolves!
Religion is best served cold, where it belongs tossed into a neocon salad with all the trimmings of Kali on the side just to rub it in to both christian and muslim radicals.
I prefer to chow down with the artists and define my existance as heresy and colour my world with its shadows and stalwart resistance, always resisting and history will be on my side eventually, when the smoke clears and everyone is looking for a scapegoat.
I’d be content
I think, maybe
if I put one
of those solar
thingy’s on the roof,
and grow my own
medication
in between the
herbs and gourmet
spuds. I could
collect rain water,
filtered by cheese cloth, milk
a Capricorn goat
and call her Billy
Bold tethered
to a tree on a long
line. I would have
to buy a hammock
and mosquito net
but first I’d have
to settle it all up,
let it go
to the highest bidders, then look
around off the beaten
track for somewhere
remote, outback
with at least a wellspring for summer
when it all dies
and I’m left
looking at the goat,
licking my mutton
chops wishing
for a pork, cracking
open a Veuve. I’d do it
and serve up a concoction of hysteria
only fit for the loony
bin – laden. I would
laugh at the irony
of having nothing
and no one to
complain about, except who I was
before I decided
to go off grid, fate
leading me astray
after yet another
furious outburst of
solipsism; cynicism
better left
with no one
to witness my demise, except for
Billy Bold
in my bed
keeping me awake,
chewing the fat.
You’re a ‘loopy slut whore’
he says, breaking down the door
standing over me
pinning me to the bed
rage spitting in my face
threatening
He wants the car
He wants the bike
He wants the business
He wants a wage
He wants to expose & hurt me
He wants the house too I bet
I paid all his debts
I paid all the deposits
I paid all his tax
I paid his lawyers
I paid for clothing, books, food
I paid the bills
I lose my home
I lose my marriage
I lose my family
I lose Goodwill
I set him up in business
I set myself up in every way
I wasn’t enough
Such a fool for love
trusting again & I lose
more than a small fortune this time
last straws coming
sooner than expected
love & generosity presumed unkind
blinded by the tree’s
Neither of us can stand to see
our littlest princess slipping away
traumatized, lost
defiance just the tip of the iceberg
anger is palpable
& justified
God I love her so much!
BUT
I can no longer bear witness
I can no longer bear the brunt
projected anger & disgust
my own psyche laid bare unprotected
I am not yours, his or her scapegoat
you all need to find your own way
I’ve done my best; my best
can no longer survive
this battle
It is a battleground
anger exploding like a grenade
no one is safe
of course its my fault
I brought it on myself, jumping the gun
what’s one more act of defiance?
I’m used to it – the ones closest
the cruelest people on earth
I don’t play bluff
I don’t care anymore
it’s not my problem
not my circus
& definitely not my monkeys
Thank you for everything
it all makes sense to me now
you needed me
you all needed me
you don’t need your little slut whore anymore
we are all loopy slut whores anyway
You have everyone & everything
Good bye & good luck
She said I could get sick
very ill, if I don’t check my self
warning me about someones
place with drugs & a room
with lights
I hope they are flashing
for I want nothing to do with it!
Despite that, I have good luck
all around me
I would happily pack my bags
to go to family, content
my wish coming true
somewhere to look forward to
happy feelings so often elude me
but not this time
Maybe more study
maybe, but I can’t see it
12 years or so was enough
unless it’s something different
working with children; children
more rewarding spiritually
There is money coming, lots
in the hand, I am shaking
an agreement; good feelings
it always turns up when least expected
I don’t have to worry
it’s all around me in abundance
She said I would help
a young man or small boy, maybe
a teenager an in-between
I can only think of one, Whisky
it would be my absolute pleasure
I’ve always wanted a boy
to love two/too
I’m invited to a wedding
either twice, or plus another
it would be a challenge, all those people
I sometimes get overwhelmed
in crowds, I am still
surprisingly happy
I am aware of security,
prowlers & thieves
several attempts fail to break
my safety zone, honed
creating our home like a fortress
I’d like to see them try
it’s under constant surveillance
My life is changing
& it’s all new, exciting
all good things come to those who wait
I feel great, finally I see
trust & calm
light is all around me
I am optimistically optimistic
I’m going to visit a girlfriend soon
somewhere beside the sea
a glass of wine, she tells me
more good news, I am truly blessed
thank Goodness
I’m not really a drinker
having learned from watching
others & my self
besides, drink driving
I’m not prepared to take the risk
the stakes are too high for everyone
Our home is beautiful
it feels lucky, a seven even
we want to go away
just the two of us, inland
no where in particular
as long as there is water near by
I think I can arrange that
It all looks good
whatever I wish for –
for once in my life, I have
everything I need
good tidings are coming
into Christmas
I am ecstatically happy
listening to the ‘Ring of Fire’
my ‘Hurt’ knowing
My man is like living
with two sides of the same coin
he makes me very happy
his kindness seeing into me
his goodwill radiating in
& out of all of us, his children
He is a wonder to behold
his capacity to love & to watch
him self & his boy, with Whisky
this Christmas will be magical
Summer barbecues & sunshine
ALL my family around me
Our littlest princess is surrounded
by love & happiness too
I’m surprised about that
under the circumstances
that’s not for lack of wanting; my wish
for she is eternal
love knows know bounds
blood not necessarily blood
Daddy will be OK too, different
but OK because he is also loved
joy takes on many forms
it might not be what we expect
in laughter, safety & trust
either way we are lucky; money
doesn’t buy happiness
It will all be done by Christmas
my grandchildren, both my daughters
good news a plenty
the four of us together with family
you all make my life complete
I could not be as happy without you
I have to watch my health
I am under far too much stress
I worry, too much worry in my little finger
I will have a stroke one of these days
another warning
I don’t want to be alone with no one
left to care for me properly
my ambulance, my casket
I want a good, long happy life
to live till I’m 92 or more
good health, a great marriage
in love, light & laughter
I don’t think I’m being selfish
to want what everyone wants
I want to be around water
waves; breathing in & out
no squalls nearby, just calm
there is a rhythm here on earth
if we listen, if I listen
& let the silence speak
I am made of water
but my fire boils
I need to be dampened
just enough, so that I am tempered
fire needs water, water needs fire
to let off steam
my existence is dependent upon it
~
I can handle that
that reminds me
I need to drink more
water
Jack said to Sally, “I am yours forever”
I have no doubt he’s got her back
she leans into him, safe
in their existence
💜
The worst of my emotional turmoil
has taken a calculated step back
from that precipice – my Abyss
I now have my feet planted firmly
on this beautiful earth of ours
My man has had a breakthrough too
He is as strong as an Ox, spiritually
speaking, he came to me
shared & bared his most dangerous
depths, in that moment, I was lifted
& my heart rose to meld with his
Cancer became the Rabbit
& Rabbit overcame his Cancer
I sank into his soft silky skin
breathing him in, his musk – fragrant
His trust rekindling all hope
I saw him in that moment, solid
stoic, replenished & I am his witness
Faith & love; Trust & kindness
Honesty is something else to behold
together our voices sing synchronicity,
we no longer fear – death
Hades has been defeated, cheated
I slurp it up now, that Pomegranate
juice splashing my face, devoured
We look forward to the future
with another kind of sixth sense
Letting go, we accept our fate
with a new, gratifying lust for life
a new found freedom
a new way of being
having found what others fail
to recognize
I’m so proud of my man
I’m so proud of me
I’m so proud of our family
& that’s all that we need – love
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.
Poetry Out West 