A Corrupted Mind


A mind so innocent


But the feeling so magnificent


A mind so confused


And flat out abused


It did not feel

What it was supposed to

It all became too unreal


Emotions shoved away

Masked with anger and hate

They always felt justified

It were the emotions that lied


Those little hands were tied

Manipulated by the obscene

A corrupted mind

Didn't exactly want them to be free


A mind, once innocent

Was lured into a darkness

It all started in that basement

Where the emotions were too much to harness

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The worm that turned

The worm that turned

   By jfarrell


(thank you to The Two Ronnies, “The Worm that Turned” was one of the funniest stories ever)


I am a worm

A “man” according to my dangly bits

My dad tried to beat being a man into me

If he was to be my example

It basically meant hitting women and anyone half my height

Other than the occasional fly nuked to goo with fly spray

I don’t hit anyone

Hurt me, I’ll go home, cry and hurt myself more

Yeah, big man, right?


Please turn

Stop hurting yourself when others hurt you

Please, turn,

Hurt them back

Stop being a worm, be a man

Please, soon

This worm must turn


Author's Notes/Comments: 

i wonder if slugs and worms are related?

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I'm sorry.

I can't see the meaning of those words anymore.

Black & blue;

Bruised, on the floor, & what do I hear?

"I'm sorry, you didn't deserve that, you weren't the girl I should have hit."

No, shit.

Curled into the fetal position;

A piece of my soul was taken sans permission.

Forced into submission...

Yet, I hear it again;

"I'm sorry, I didn't know it was rape."

"Rape can't happen between a couple anyway, plus I love you, I'm sorry."

How does one process this mess?

I'm sorry, I forgot how english works.

I'm sorry, my soul fucking hurts.

I'm sorry, perhaps I shouldn't be so nice.

Sugar, spice, everything nice...

Tweak the ingredients.

Fuck this obiediece;

Encoded in my D.N.A.

Fuck what I have to say.

I'm sorry I was there for you when you were on special k.

I'm sorry I can't be nice today, "my baaaad".

Your words of choice.

I'm sorry your mom is a fuckin' crack junkie.

I'm sorry your father shot himself in the head.

I'm sorry, you're not as strong as me.

I'm sorry you think strength is monetary.

I'm sorry, my mom doesn't wake me up spilling trash all over me.

How I have grown to loathe the words...

"I'm sorry"

"My bad"

Too bad, so sad, I am left to just toughen up.

I'm sorry I didn't wanna do horse tranquilizers with you.

I'm sorry that the cops caught you at a fuckin' drive thru.


I'm sure you see,

You use a word too much, it loses it's meaning.

Fair weather friends, come and go like changing seasons.

Apologies, you have lost me.

Fathom the reasons.

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Found out my ex still has poetry on this site too.

A whole folder dedicated to badmouthing me.

I actually read it.

Its okay.

I have mine here too.


She is the reason why I dont give out my social to anyone.

why i am even cautious in giving out my last name.

I dont want to go through identity theft again.


Now im no longer angry I just feel sorry for her.

it must be hard to say all those nasty things years after the fact.

I must be good to talk about and have a good life since then to hold her interest.


I dont know what caused me to look up her name in the directory tonight.

I just did out of nowhere. Im glad shes married and happy. I hope she moves away soon.

I live less than four blocks from her and have no reason to say hello.



She even pretended to be someone else just to stalk me on her for years and I found out about it.

I am blessed with a wonderful child. She has none. I served my country and get benefits from that.

I can shop at Walmart. She cant because she got caught stealing from there. I am getting my conceal carry

license because its been over five years since ive been in the hospital and she cant say that.



Its all good as they say.

I am safe in my home from her and my child father who both emotionally abused me.

Saying I was the crazy one. Yes I have some diagnosis, but at least I take my meds now.

I have wonderful support in my sister and close friends who love me for me.



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By JFarrell


My shame stops.



Yes, I took the sweets

I was six years old

And I didn’t know what he wanted.

The scumbag raped me

But I am finished being ashamed for that.


I did not ruin my uncle’s wedding

Destroy his marriage

His scumbag friend

Was the rapist


I did not live up to my father’s expectations;

A cowardly drunk

Who beat his wife and kids

To feel like a man.


I took a lot of blame for my family


No more

Find a new scapegoat.


The only thing I have to be ashamed of

Is that I let you hand me the blame;

And I am so through with that.



Author's Notes/Comments: 

no more anyones scapegoat

Happy Mother’s Day

Happy Mother’s Day

By JFarrell


I wish happy mother’s day

To all mothers

Except mine


I wish all mothers

Long life, happiness, love

Except mine


For all you mums

Who made the effort

To love and care for your children

Who had their children grow

Knowing that their mother loved them

Unequivocally, forever



To all you wonderful mothers,

I wish you happy mother’s day.


For my own mother,


You really should have tried harder.


Author's Notes/Comments: 

happy mother's day

Taken to the Charcoal Pits (Pit Bulls)

they are taken to the charcoal pits--

to the fornicators of Babylon

the evil witch

spits blood at the dogs

and they growl back

social dogs

made into fighters

by evil men

and the dogs growl

not a funny situation

children on ventilators

doctors not in control

mean people beating the dogs

to be tough guys

dogs chained on axles

in a junk yard

bait dogs with

1,000 stitches

and the veterinarian

plays games


and the evil witch

spits blood

at the dogs

and they growl

who is in control?


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Temporary Sinkholes (day 87)

I try to find the fine line of the truth in your lies

but it’s slippery and my hands have been coated with too much experience to hold it.


My memories fall out your ears like rain…

but not the drops that splash on pleasant spring mornings,

the kind of rain I’ll never sing in when it haunts our town.


I try to find all the sinkholes before they form,

bury them with pebbles and old notes and trying to make you feel like this is home,

telling you everything you need to hear.

I put on your coffeepot at the exact right moment so it’s done when you get home for dinner.

I wait too long for some sort of reassurance, maybe a flower or one arm curled around my shoulder or eye contact for once, but I’m positive I have not waited long enough.

I make you the meals that coat your voice in a little less angry, a little more willing to forgive when I burn something the next day. I make you the meals that slip down your throat more easily than my name.

I use the words always and never more than you use my name just because I want to be unwavering.

I make the spot in the bed beside me less empty and at the same time unfillable just by speaking your name when you’re gone.



These are the kind of lies I tell myself.


Love is like drinking three gallons of ice water at once.

It’s beautiful and refreshing and I only regret it after it’s settled like a glacier in my stomach.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 10/22/16


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Wearing The Wrong Shoes (day 84)

You tell me this place is welcoming

this place is like a quiet haven in the woods no one knows about

You tell me I’m just wearing the wrong shoes

but how can that be

when every so often I find myself

alone in a closet again,

waiting on some hero to come bang down the door

just so I can have some semblance of freedom?


Of course there’s no hero here

there’s only these legs

that keep stumbling and somehow they stay upright and

until now no matter how far I’ve pushed my muscles

they don’t snap

they get stronger with every step

so I leave the closet and slam the door behind me.


But once I’m out I keep tripping over nails and two-by-fours

that jut out of the walls

taking up space in your brain I should occupy,

and tearing up these shoes I’ve used to explore your hallway for so long,

pulling blood out of my body

but I swear it’s not your fault

it’s just the treacherous slope you’re making me tread-

I should wear better shoes.


I should be more cautious

trying to figure you out

in this volatile maze of a mind

I should step silently

around the nails and debris

to keep you from screaming.


But it’s not worth it

I can’t count the nails before I’m upon them,

I’ve been through too much on this floor

to throw away the battle scars


So I run down your hallway

in broken shoes

I don’t need to walk on sharp steel like it’s eggshells

I don’t need to find safety

I need to find the fire alarm

and then I need to find the door

and get past the fence and the driveway you keep a parked car in to keep me a mile from home

but trust me, in these broken shoes I can get farther than you and your clenched-tight fists and lonely narrowed eyes can even dream about

That’s okay, I can ruin these shoes

because once I escape

I have all the time in the world

to build myself a new pair of shoes

and go sprinting down the airplane runway

until I finally take flight.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 10/19/16


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