Skin & Bitch Bone

I don’t want to go to Church;

Have to kneel for a scrap of bread,

Have to beg for forgiveness,

Have to swallow an empty vessel for a measly sip of port wine.

All of it, on my divine time —

For a bullet with my name on it.

I don’t want to be told what to do;

When I am deemed worthy enough for you.

Where I can live, when you decide

Who I can be with, if it suits them.

What I can wear, to show off my hour-glass figure & classic class.

How I earn my pittance pay & not be dependent on you for anything —

That doesn’t meet with family approval.

I don’t want to live this way;

Waiting for a skin & bitch bone

Salivating over moldy morsels

Wagging my mangy tail,

Waiting for that prayer of approval.

I am of Mary Magdalene.

The Patron Saint of Prostitutes

The red right hand of Jesus —

His only true partner in crime.

I am a Goddess in my own right

& I deserve to be equal, besides

I don’t take kindly to being manipulated by Romans or Benedictine

Monks, attempting to make meals on wheels look A La Carte.

Men who would starve a loved one, & feed a stranger, if it meant they were a step closer to the light.

Attonement casts an evil shadow —

Double standards rape & pillage your family values & family members drop like flies amongst the lies.

/

Heart’s bleed out through cathedrals & stained glass window’s, while you profess your love in gypsy spades.

You piss all over me like a stinking leper!

You, who would decide if I live or die!

Let those who cast the first stone wallow in self pity because I turn my back.

I walk away from you & yours, my bright future fading into despair like the grandiose mirage that it was.

All of it, on your terms.

You would discard me in a heartbeat.

Your entitlement precedes your entourage of everything & nothing,

Where you would set limits on love to the detriment of your own broken heart.

So be it!

These are all moot points in the grand master plan anyway.

The great scheme of things to come, comes at a much greater cost & one I can live without.

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

Not That Kind

Madonna/Whore Complex

I’m not that kind of girl.

I am that kind of girl.

I can separate work and love.

I can’t separate work and love.

I know what I want.

I don’t know what I want.

Laughter and light.

Sadness and dark.

I don’t like one night stands.

I could like one night stands.

My heart is not for sale.

My heart is open for business.

I’m not a fuck buddy.

I could be a fuck buddy.

I am so much more.

I am all there is.

I want to be number one.

I don’t want to mean that much.

So I can learn to trust.

So I will never learn.

I don’t want to be second best.

I want to be what you want me to be.

I am worthy of love.

I am unworthy of love.

I want to be desired.

I don’t want to be desired.

I am a loving woman.

I am incapable of love.

I’m not an after-hours opportunity.

I am open all hours.

My time is precious.

My time is wasted.

I want to feel like I belong.

I don’t want to be here.

Not at someone’s beck and call.

On someone’s speed dial.

I’m not available for players.

I am available for everyone.

I have integrity.

I am immoral.

I want a partnership.

I don’t want a relationship.

Equality and compromise.

Selfishness and control.

I don’t want to feel alone.

I feel alone.

With or without.

Without or with.

I want to be independent.

I am co-dependent.

Choose my own lane.

Follow the leader.

I don’t want to settle.

I settle for much less.

When I deserve the best.

I don’t deserve any better.

I want to feel secure.

I feel trapped.

Relax and unwind.

Wound up like a spring.

I’m not someone’s distraction.

I am someone’s excuse.

Present not present.

Affect not effect.

I want to be happy.

I don’t want to feel good.

Spontaneously combust.

Slowly decay.

I don’t want to cry.

I want to smile.

No more tears for fears.

Lots of laughs and hope.

I want to be loved.

I am unloveable.

Expand my horizon.

Stay locked away.

I don’t want to be used.

I am a user.

I want a place to call ours.

I like my own space.

I can’t change who I am.

I could change if I wanted to.

I want it all.

I don’t want anything.

I am the kind of girl you take home.

I’m not the kind of girl you take home.

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

God is Love

image

I feel shattered
fragmented
my self dispersed
willy nilly
this way & that; sparks

on a funeral pyre

*

Isolated in a new country I proudly call my home, desperate for unconditional love and understanding. I am estranged from family who need no explanation least of all from me. We are grieving the loss of our precious little girl. The softest most gentlest child who has ever graced my presence. That’s the worst thing to comprehend. How could it all go so wrong?

Self pity and blame/shame become a toxic breeding ground for self-doubt.  Feeling victimized beyond where my psyche can find peace, I am being eroded from within. Still, those wicked thoughts work their way into my cracks, ever-widening, poisoning me from the inside out. I have a parasitic demon spreading its hideous tentacles into every mistake I have ever made reminding me of my foolish flaws. My lifesong is no more heard than those women in history; burned at the stake.

I thank God I was not born in that cruel Medieval era, although I recognise similarities in unjust sentences and we all know no one has a leg to stand on in times of prejudice. I see common sense, at the last-minute at least. Those women were tenacious, brave beyond measure and while the odds are gathering sticks stacking my pyre, my heart is with her and them, my love knows no bounds.

I make the calls, I speak my truth. It is all I can do to retain my dignity. My integrity is not in question, it has never been. I know right from wrong. There is  something insidious here at work, attempting to thwart justice by all devious means imaginable. It cannot last forever. She threatens me and us but though the system of things is corrupt, I am not.

Every day people are being dis – membered, crucified in the coldest places on earth. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy but she has brought us here to witness our incarceration and suffering, inflicting us with that cold, soulless stare. Her lust barely disguising her thirst for that elusive elixir of life.

I am human. I suffer like everyone else. My reserves are low and my inner flame is almost extinguished – doused by lies and deceit of the most heinous kind. I pray everyday for divine intervention. More than ever to Mary, to God, Goddesses, to the Crones, to whoever will listen. Those who weave their ancient threads on the great wheel of life, deciding our destinies.

By descending into hell, this time I know with certainty that wheel will rise again and I will find myself ascending, transcending all that was before. My faith wrapping my warm, safe, loving arms around her and us. I believe we are in the right place at the right time but the reasons for it are as yet unknown. I face this wrath. I take full responsibility for whatever I have failed to see and I will mourn.

My needs are the least important right now. Longer lives are at stake here. I am reminded of the Inquisition where women and poor innocent children were burned for nothing more than uttering truth in a world full of unscrupulous doings. My littlest princess is growing up way too fast. Her world separate from her self.

My focus is on one innocent child who is but a pawn in this farce. It is she who I admire, her resilience and the knowing that one day soon she will be reunited with love and have the best that love can offer her to heal. It won’t be too late, for love can work miracles for the most cruel of experiences. I have witnessed first hand how God will intervene having carried me in his stead before. Children are born resilient. They have inbuilt protection and I trust that she will be OK.

God is love and he does not desert his flock.

© Copyright 2015, Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved