I Was A Troubled Child Gone Wild

Posed by model picture to illustrate story on child abuse.

She is frenetic, said some

Possessed, exclaimed others

But she did not try to injure anyone

— Lucien Arreat, “Pathology of Artists,” The Alienist and Neurologist


The Troubled Child

This is the poem

Of the troubled child

Say it softly

For the poem is wild

Can you love a monster

With a frightening name

Like little Miss Shame

For nobody loves a girl

Who used sex as a game

Just kill her mind

And let her spirit run wild

To roam the forest of life

With her own kind

Losing the ability to smile

For a long while

She would learn to be untamed

Which is even worse than wild

You could say

She was on anything but a roll

That troubled child

Strange, remote and reviled

So she changed her name

To see life more


To see it as a


Her soul

Now goes by the name of


To write about her


Which was her


But she always remembers

She was once

That harlot child

That made the devil seem cuddly

Even mild

Quite an achievement

For someone

Who was once

Our darling little child


For a while


Such a sweet loving


“An insincere and evil person is more to be feared than a wild beast; a wild beast may wound your body, but an evil person will wound your mind”
-Author unknown

To you have they done?

Was there nowhere for you to run?

Taught self-doubt, denial, and loathing?

Will you stop hating yourself for just existing?

A 12 year 250 film projekt to document and un-ravel my secret sexual persona from the age of four to 32 years old as a conceptual art piece

Shame (noun)
A painful feeling of humiliation or distress caused by the consciousness of wrong or foolish behavior.

An awareness of discord with societies established acceptable range of actions and thoughts, fraught with the embarrassment and distress of not conforming to the mean.

Ironically and conversely evolution rewards uniqueness.

Humanitys’ very existence is wholly dependent upon deviation from the mean.

Without variation we would have quickly succumbed to disease or famine or even our own stupidity.

The difference between defective and effective is only a matter of perspective

And yet, reductionism is the nectar of the narrow minded

I am a poptimist at heart

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Categories: Sex

2 Comments on “I Was A Troubled Child Gone Wild”

  1. dirk_gently
    December 29, 2014 at 10:24 pm #

    Poetry born in cigarettes and coffee. In remembering and forgetting. In scrambled eggs and hash browns. In finding and losing, in the melancholy cafe.

    Treat yourself missy, cake always cheers me up. You grew up. it happens that you turned out to be an artist. That is worth a least a slice of lemon drizzle.

    • January 5, 2015 at 1:29 am #

      Fantastic Alan. So fantastic that I incorporated it into the Year in Review piece. Love it 🙂 MJ

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