I could never look at you
the same way
I adored you, once
your true colours had me
in sensory overload
clutching at my heaving chest
in shock, my disbelief winded
reeling from the blows
you took such pride in
inflicting pain, deliberately
fueling retribution over lack
of supply, shows me I never knew
you – you who would do anything
for me, except love me
finding unjustified reasons
to hurt me
because I don’t abide.
I could never trust
the man that revels in pain,
his empowerment borne
plotting, scheming manipulations
splitting love in two
my aorta left to bleed
out, powerless –
it made him feel
like a man.
You’re not my man
I was your meal ticket,
your way to escape
demons; Dachau passed down
suffering in such a way
life was completely misunderstood.
Cruel Nazi mentality was a heartless
Mockingbird,
your SS badge of dishonour
worse, using children
as an apparatus for torture.
Where love nurtured trust,
spiritual guidance you squandered
on self-serving childhood needs,
your own metered out
shortcomings —
love is not yours to ridicule away
denying its abundant existance.
I will never trust my heart,
expose her soft underbelly
or offer her up
in sacrafice; a lamb.
Your God is a manmade
fallacy designed to subjugate
where misogyny, displaced whores
render Madonna complexes
in perpetual conflict.
I am disappointed in you
you, who had it all, proffered up
on a silver platter
a want for nothing, except coveted jealousy
lusting after sinful greed
you let breed and wreck havoc.
Mr Black is a predator, a perpetrator
you let run roughshod over me
I am not the only one, women
your future is predictable by nature,
I hope with what’s left
you learn your lesson well.
I wanted a man – a man,
not a spoiled little boy
throwing tantrums to up
the Antichrist in pursuit
of a misspent youth,
ungrateful to the core, matters
let go out of hand.
I am in Hell
sent there to rot in your abandon
but you didn’t bargain on meeting Demeter,
who will hunt you down
to save herself, mourning winter
the long days and sleepless nights
haunting your nightmares.
She, who see’s right through you,
will dance upon your grave.
© Copyright 2016, Jodine Derena Butler. All Rights Reserved
Poetry Out West 