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
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
Sitting/
Staring/
Laying/
preparing for the long rest.
Avoidance/
of people, places, sights and sounds.
Depression/
an abyss-like-nightmare that wants to kill me and I battle for my life.
Anxiety/
strangles me to within an inch of my suffocated existence.
Silence/
except for the machine head that analyses and deciphers psychic projections.
Fear/
the worst my mind can conjure, always on the lookout for my nemesis.
Panic/
attacks that leave me exhausted, foolish, irrational, exposed and defeated.
Boundaries/
overflowing – pushing people away, proving that point I once knew.
Distraction/
compulsion’s that envelop me like a synthesized loop; engulfed, and left devoid of all feeling.
Mistakes/
battles to right wrongs, that fail appallingly.
Agoraphobia/
refusing to put myself at risk, unfortunately I still need to eat.
Guilt/
burdens I endure for both of us.
Sensory deprivation/
just to make it stop!
*
Complex PTSD/
is all of this and more.
Trauma/
leaves a lifelong scar.
© Copyright 2018, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved
“I’m in my garden planting, weeding or harvesting.” JD Butler
1.
Most days I want to die.
My heart breaks
over the most
stupidest of things.
My thoughts tell me I am not
strong enough
pretty enough
skinny enough
feminine enough
kind enough
friendly enough
sexy enough
compassionate enough
caring enough or
rich enough.
My brain tells me I’m too
moody
angry
sad
depressed
anxious
ugly
scared
fragile
emotional
weak
unpredictable
unstable
flighty
and fickle.
My brain tells me to think
the worst of every situation, interpret every thing as an
attack
snide remark
slur
corner
lie
deception or
ulterior motive.
I really shouldn’t take things so personally.
Others think I’m too
Sexual
Slutty
Useing
Abusing
Needy and
Crazy.
I guess
that’s why he told me I have no friends.
Most days I can’t stand it any more.
I’m too much of every thing or not enough.
I wish I was never born.
/
I’m ok on a good day, but I struggle. Demons,
in my waking hours, have a go at me for every-little-thing that ever was.
How, do I continue to survive?
Most days, I just want to die.
2.
Some days I feel happy.
content
pleased
proud
relaxed
calm
and secure.
I’m in my garden planting, weeding or harvesting.
And I think about what else I want to do.
Paint
draw
read
make
sculpt
weld
and create.
Money holds me back so I continue watering the garden.
Some days I feel optimistic.
I am convinced I’m going to get that job,
find that financial independence,
not go back to sex work although I miss it terribly.
Some days I don’t think about
pain
loss
fear
humiliation
rejection
or torment.
I’m numb, but at least I’ve stopped
shaking in my boots,
jumping all over the place,
looking around every 5 fucking seconds
or wanting to run.
Some days I feel hope that I won’t
take my life
end up on the streets
be alone and lonely
have no friends
have no lover
or find love.
Whats wrong with me?
I live with trauma, fuck up daily and behave like a bitch –
and I dont think I can be fixed
sometimes.
Some days I’m OK.
I smile
laugh
joke
play
make love
not war.
I try not to let the voices win. I try to
bite my tongue
shut my mouth
hold back tears
try my best
please my man
and stop complaining.
I try not to wait for the end, although I push everyone away – my deluded saving grace
is more likely cutting off my nose, to spite my face.
Some days I think I will survive.
But most days, I still want to die.
“Brown nosing is considered commentary, while deceit still lingers in gaslit ovens” JD Butler
People could learn to say what they mean, & mean what they say but
brown nosing is considered commentary, while deceit still lingers in gaslit ovens; no professionalism, integrity or due process.
Fraudulent essentially – powerful people full of egotistical self righteous bigotry, who really don’t give a fuck! Zealots who would suck off anything & lick the rim, just to play the press.
I’ve retired, & that doesnt give anyone the license to try to get their end away by throwing a ‘seemingly solid’ literary curve ball at me, that’s totally full of shit!
Honesty died with Bukowski & I wish I lived in America, because I know exactly where to buy a cheap gun
without any background checks.
© Copyright 2018, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved
“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
Original painting of Jodine Derena Butler, graffiti on canvas by Adrian Falkner aka SMASH, 2007
He said get over it,
& he’s right. My friend said to me once that I had to learn to live without needing a man. My daughter said, there’s plenty of replacements out there, (not that she was suggesting anything of the sort) but,
are these really the answers? I know they are all three, onto something, but me. I haven’t recovered from the last one, the trauma that stripped me down to my bare brittle bones & left me incarcerated in my mind – me, the iconoclast
reduced to a smidgen of my former self. I feel my body buzz, that digital alarm clock refusing to turn off, snoozing indefinitely in some futile attempt to deny it’s existence. My only relief,
an altered state that heals me, temporarily igniting serotonin filling me with laughter & lust, leading me astray into pleasure – the pain, retreating into recessed cavities like tooth decay.
In my natural state, my zombie-like vessel of despair is frozen in a headfuck, not dissimilar to those offering themselves up for cryogenic enlightenment; an obscene experiment, waiting for the utopian dream.
I struggle to hold on.
I smile at memories of when I was on fire, & you gathered around me like a moth, my flame fanning a wildfire of desire & I controlled the burn.
Life’s not like that now. I admire those who can turn a lemon into lemonade, mutton into lamb & a deep dish Russian pie served with liquor, into a feast for days.
I’m so introverted & egocentric that I can’t see you – you, with a heart the size of a universe, a mind as creative as Tesla’s & nature like a Phoenix that’s died a thousand times, only to be reborn, transformed into the beautiful man that you are.
I lie. It’s me who can’t seem to find herself, still lost in that ethereal realm inhabited by visceral ghosts, inciting death & despair into anger & self flagellation.
I am so blind I can’t find my way home. They say home is where the heart is – my home is an empty shell; it’s roof resembling dismembered body parts, now strewn across the lawn in a cyclonic fury, like pieces of me.
It was way too soon to start over again. I am still too fragile to smash.
*
Despite it all, you tell me you love me everyday.
Every. Single. Day.
© Copyright 2018, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved
Melbourne Street Art – Artist Unknown
Photographer: Jennifer Cox
Photo used with permission
I’m trying to work through cobwebs, he said,
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 the moment.
he scans the horizon
left to right that sinking
feeling farther, closer
than he expected denial; a river in Egypt
too far away to row
a thunder clap into eternity,
Isis turning a blind eye
Triton dragging him
under, spinning
a vortex only Terra
firma can translate.
taking the bull
by the horns, he finds
solid ground wrestling
Taurus, 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
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.
I want everything to be saved,
he said.
© Copyright 2016, Jodine Derena Butler & ‘Poetry Out West’. All Rights Reserved
Photographer: _foto_in_vivo
‘Metamorphosis’
Because you pushed
Me away
You said
Looking in, forgetting
Conveniently what
Snapped at me
Before
And I asked you
Not to talk to me
That way
I’m afraid
It will become
A daily occurrence
Because you don’t
Respect me
Enough to treat
Me with love
And kindness
I watched you treat
Your mother
With contempt
Before
But maybe
You’ve found someone
Else to take
The blame
For your anger
And pain
Where do we fit
In to the grand
Scheme of things?
Marriage
A family
A home
A lover
A friend
Is it all to be
For nothing less
Than another
End?
I know you are hurt
In chronic pain
Everyday
I watch you
Pacing, shifting
Moving, frustrated
And bored
You can’t
Or won’t settle
And you distance
Yourself
Defensive over
Nothing
I can do for you
How can you find love?
When fear
Is driving you
To lash out
At me
Only me
When I love you
And I can’t do anything
To fix this
Torture and
Torment
Let it go
Softness is strength
Tears are healing
Together we can
Learn to trust
And fall in love
Again
‘Hurt’ by Johnny Cash (Nine Inch Nails)
© Copyright 2015, Jodine Derena Butler & ‘Poetry Out West’. All Rights Reserved
This head fuck
of name calling
of twisted tattle tales
designed to enlighten
denial of woefully inadequate
thoughtless mistakes.
Repeat
Repeating
Sorry, like an episode
for days 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 – rest
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!
Stop!
STOP!
You’re too big
for my shoebox
© Copyright 2015, Jodine Derena Butler & ‘Poetry Out West’. All Rights Reserved.
Photo used with permission
I watch my littlest princess
dancing away with the faeries
expressing pain so magnificently
her voice, exploding anger
her mind, opposing self
her heart, barely beating
my mind-splitting headache pounds
containing my own maelstrom
that subterranean refuge
where I once found comfort
where there was none
where my soul learned to fly
holding on, innocence
letting go & spirituality guiding
me back home
I hold her now, meet her gaze
no words cling to each other
we plant flowers in the earth
tending our garden, nurturing our selves
her pain temporarily reconciled
my own thunderous affront subdued
I don’t let her see my pain,
I protect her, I love her like I love
my self, mirrored back in her eyes
I watch her from afar
she knows I’m there on the outskirts
her nice stepmother, soothsayer
I can watch & bear, witness
one step removed my fire
unseared, tempered in her presence
I am not a fool, knowing transference
like God, is everywhere & no
where at once, I remain steadfast
she heals me, my littlest princess
igniting my candelabra
rays of warmth piercing the dark
she will be ok with love, gentle
strokes; my cradle rocking a rhythm
peace descending around her to nest
I can watch although I didn’t then
but I can see clearly now, the rain
I trust my self to know the difference
dissociation & dissociative
here in the now my mindfulness
my present is my gift to her
© Copyright 2015, Jodine Derena Butler. All Rights Reserved
1.
I miss you both
It saddens me, that you hold on
with such contempt
that I must wait for you
to grow, make peace with yourselves
in order to find forgiveness
in others, in me
2.
I was not a perfect mother
I don’t know anyone who is
except in our minds,
which compare; an apropos
of nothing really
One thing you can both be sure of
is that I do my very best
with the ancient tools I was given
with dedication & commitment
to myself, to raise you both better
better than I had ever known
or been shown of love
& I love you both deeply
3.
The women in our family carry a curse
I believe, still being passed down
Great Grandmother to Grandmother,
Grandmother to Granddaughter,
Mother to Daughter – witnessed
eyes knowing cruel contempt
for women
Somehow the trauma each of us
experienced, experiences
real, imagined or embellished harm
passed down through our DNA
our nature
through our environments
our nurture
trying to show us the wisdom
to know the difference
It is a blessing
your tenacity, persistence
& determination
fight to right those wrongs
letting go the past moving on
steadfast in search of that love
you desire
Our cells remember
the past lives of our ancestors
those crossed paths imprinted
on our mind, body & soul
power & passion
did not escape unscathed; scarred
permanently
our heart skipped many beats
We observe each other
observed by our men (& women),
surviving their own stories,
our selves attract to ourselves
psyche healing vicariously
most of the time, everyone
learning to find peace, love
happiness taking its time –
but don’t be fooled by pride
awareness is awry, warning
I do my best to break this cycle
not expose you to harm
triggered reactions lead us astray
our nautical compass
navigates storms, skewiff
I cling to my internal lifesaver
lest I drown at sea
My own mother is a farce
painfully denied & despised
tea leaves attempt to predict failure
our grandmothers are responsible
for nothing but vindication
like her mothers mother’s mother
I am your mother
you came from my body
you are of my blood
I love you,
my mother could never say that
once, in past tense
once, in goodbye
4.
I refused to drink
drunkenness hurt me more than ever
in the past, I was scared
I refused to drug
& I was spiked for my efforts, in vain
I learned his true psychedelic colours
I refused to parade men; a room
full of strangers, who could
watch & wait for those opportune moments…
I must have failed
I feel like a failure, ashamed of myself
ashamed of you both at times too
but only because I see how it could end
I warn you about danger
from yourself from others
predators in the world prey
dark & destroyed souls
seek nothing but instant gratification
self-righteous justification
anger is violence
no excuse is proffered up
& we are all culpable to some degree
5.
I am a strong woman
I feel very deeply the injustices
of others, of yours, of mine
I only have myself to chastise
& you, that part of me I protect
in my mind
I am harder on myself
my self is much harder to bear
I expect much more than vengeance
to ease our hurt awakening anger
we need love & kindness
I only want the best for you, for me
I am also very proud of you both
I see two beautiful, independent
headstrong women, myself
on a good day
I want you to be happy, exude warmth
I need you to love me, back
the way I loved you, back then
when we would all laugh & play
when we all had our innocence & joy
I want you both to come home
6.
I feel pain of the most heinous kind
happiness eludes me most days
searching, my self finds traces
of her, that little girl that became
lost in the ethereal space between
what was & what could have been
she separated parts of her self
doted & despised, both
in continual conflict
I have memories, denied versions of truth
I struggle to reconcile – I feel violated
I despise lies & deceit, power & control
I wrestle with such terrifying demons
who tempt me to trust & I am often
mistaken – I no longer believe it exists
on a bad day
7.
My fear became terror
when they both laughed
& came for me in my corner
I was held down while the soap stick
ripped through me
turning me inside & out
as I floated away
I was 4
My cat could have been shot
in front of me
he held up the gun, she held
the cat steady
“do you think the bullet will go
straight through?”
I was 5 or 6
My life could have been over
when I choked
but he said “she’s not my kid”
I pulled the sinewy gristle out
by myself spewing onto my plate
I was 6
He told me I was ugly
unwanted, unloved
I should never have been born
but I had a guardian
He told me “it’s meant to be this way,
it won’t be like this forever”
I was 6 or 7
My body knew pleasure before
it knew pain, before he touched me
& my spirit carried me
away to safety
I was 8
I watched him
his violence incarcerating those cows
chained, their backbones
smashed with a galvanized pipe
they had no where to go
I remember blood pouring from sores
like an avalanche
I was 8 or 9
My eyes saw the Sheep’s throat cut
with a blunt knife
he held our heads together
forcing us to watch, laughing
I was 10
I might have felt loved
if I wasn’t told it was the worst day
of my mother’s life when I was born
on my birthday
I was 13
His brother was a sneak
he came into my bedroom
he tried, I failed in his eyes
his brother’s too
though he was blind
I was 16
I trusted him
the Blue Mountains forever etched
into my brain
it was midnight
“if you don’t…I will leave you here
& they will find your body”
there was a cyclone in 1984
I was 16 then too
Death, like Charon is ever present
He resides beside & inside us
He will happily take us one way or another
if we let Him
I refuse to pay although I am tempted
He doesn’t give a shit at the end of the day
so don’t waste time entertaining him
or sway your hips to his tune
8.
My heart only ever loved one man
My Grandfather
I never knew my Father, not
until I was 17
& now I don’t want to know
because violence is not OK for you two
but I must have deserved it
I might be his daughter
but he only raised boys
he doesn’t know how much
daughters need their Fathers
you both need your Father
I needed my Father
I knew this, then & now
I never withheld them from you
I fought for them as much as for you
so that they understood
how to love, the girls who would become women
so you can recognise a gift
when you see it
& trust
9.
We all watch the slow erosion of her innocence, see her wrestle in defiance
like I saw you, like I saw myself
she is my light & she heals me
her gentle softness radiating like a Halo
I heal her, my nurture having been
honed because of you, thank you
11.
I love you both with all my heart
It is no coincidence Karma
your boys will teach you everything
else you need to know
perhaps the curse is broken?
It was always meant for you
to become
the beautiful mother that you are
please understand, your boys
need me as much as I need them
Leisa, whether you like it or not
you are an extension of my self
I feel very proud of you & of myself
pain is like fire, it burns
I prefer to view my fire as a controlled burn
as part of nature’s regeneration
it makes way for new growth,
stronger roots & solid ground
I need you
as much as you need me
© Copyright 2015, Jodine Derena Butler. All Rights Reserved
It’s back
I’m shaking like a leaf
More trauma
It’s a normal natural response
So I’m told
Under these circumstances
I see very clearly
We have different strengths
But strengths we do have in abundance
Meeting in the middle
The two of us working together
Dialogue & adult discussion
Trauma is everywhere
Leaching into every cell
All of us – imploding stars
*
She is such an Angel
Beautiful in all her innocent glory
Loving & gentle
I rock her in my arms
I pat her back in rhythm
She relaxes, falling asleep
She is loved by all of us
To our core, that weeps
In our hearts, that bleed
I pray, pleading for guidance
My faith is in your hands
I am your servant
Love is love
There is no in-between
Just understanding & surrender
© Copyright 2015, Jodine Derena Butler. All Rights Reserved
The bed creaks like your bones
that moan and groan
that slow grind through clenched teeth,
that need between the sheets
~
It’s August now
as cold as it gets here in Winter.
I’m buying an electric blanket
to warm you through; least I run you through
with my lasciviously pointy finger!
Still, I wrap my legs
around your freezing appendages,
making a spoonful of sugar
while you lick the cream
from your Cheshire 😀
I can’t help but bear your stubborn,
stoic Far North Queenslander pride;
pleasured simplicity, complicit
with your Will to burn the wick
at both ends, ajoint screaming
a string of profanity
In Summer, I knead
your splintered lamb shank
while you shovel nutrition down
with a tincture of mindfullness,
layer upon layer of oil, and Green Tea
setting the scene for a modern beer
I find it hard, to watch your tenacity
come face to face with Dachau – Grim
barking out his contempt
while she ducks for cover in sewage…
We have to make the trip worthwhile
or its all for naught; she signs a cross
Pope John Paul II raised the host
because he had all the respect in the world
for Mary. Sometimes I wonder
what will become of our inheritance
if the light at the end of the tunnel
really is another oncoming train?
We have to find a way through
our fragile past lives where we would
seethe on the outside and cower on the in,
if it weren’t for temperance; sharp edges constrained by blunt force trauma
In the meantime, I heat the purple wheat bag in the microwave
laying it carefully between the sheets
You know I love you most when you least expect it
© Copyright 2015, Jodine Derena Butler. All Rights Reserved
RE BLOGGED on Dream Big Dream Often
Poetry Out West 