Egg dances with sperm; a clump of cells grows into a babyme.

Babyme is born and leaves the hospital, with daddy and mommy, just married.

Daddy works at the factory; mommy cooks and cleans,

changes diapers, feeds and cares for babyme.

Birthdays come and birthdays go.

Lots of pictures taken and lots of presents given.


Littlegirlme now,

Chubby legs, running, exploring the neighborhood,

Climbing trees, walking through abandoned underground passages,

Digging trenches in the alley from puddles for waterways,

Swinging on the tire swing up the hill,

Taking allowance to the corner store to buy candy,

Playing then fighting with little brother,

Playing for hours in the sandbox.

Picking plums and pears from the trees.


Many trips to grandma and grandpa’s house,

A happy place of coffee, company, and laughter for the grownups,

Cousins to run and play with and a cookie jar I can eventually reach on my own.

Spending days at grandma and grandpa’s

With an older female cousin, grandma’s first grandchild,

Our moms dress us alike, inseparable,

Bathing together, sleeping together under the feather tick

Doing chores, grandma brushes our hair and watches Hawaii 5-0 and Lawrence Welk.


Great Uncle and Great Aunt begin regular visits to our grandparents,

From a farm town 50 miles away

An old barrel-chested, whiskey-breathed, red-faced troll

and his timid red-faced, white-haired wife.

Nobody notices Great Uncle Troll abusing littlegirlme on each visit,


Year upon year, quietly;


screaming on the inside,

Going through the motions

of life

with a dismembered soul.


Teenme arrives on the scene.

Drinking, skipping, experimenting, sassing, running away

A good girl gone bad they say, what a pity.

A soulless puppet, jumping as the strings are pulled

If they could only see the strings.


Adultme struts in, a joint in one hand and a bottle in the other,

bars, dancing, bed hopping, and drugs,

Party friends get paid when they traffick partygirl me (only seen in retrospect)


Hello marriage, picked a tough guy to protect and control this puppet

Within 6 months being battered, bearing children, more being battered.


Hello divorce, work, college, parenting,

Going through the motions, there but not

Still dancing to the strings of the Puppet Master of the Soulless.


Support group. 





Support and acceptance. 

Shelter from the Storm.

Step by step on the installation

then cutting of the strings.

Buckets and buckets of tears.

I see now the why and the how

the how to climb up out of the pit

to dance with women who run with the wolves

Soul whispering has called it back to me.

Time to recreate.

The Daily Post -- Recreate


3 Comments Add yours

  1. shubhu23 says:

    Nicely described.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. rothpoetry says:

    What a sadly beautiful poem you have written here. So sad to hear of your abuse, especially by a family member. Glad you have found a support group to help you rise above the past and move on to write beautiful poetry here on your blog!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. msjadeli says:

      Thank you for reading, yes, the group helped me regain my soul. I appreciate your kind words more than you know.

      Liked by 1 person

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