it's a different life,
another layer, color, feeling, thoughts.
over me and in, around and more,
dreams and present alike it haunts.

festering like a fever, sometimes,
incredulous annoying joy.

We can't make it though a normal day
of school and work
We talk at lunch
and "run out of time to eat"
We see things
We hear things
We think everyone is watching us
and we don't sleep at night

Because we're all ******* anorexic
dying with our own hands at our own throats
We're all that type of depressed
that medication won't even help
We're addicted to the things that will be the end of us
because for the night they make us feel so **** alive
We change our personalities
to cope with everyday people
like they are some trauma that sparked MPD
All high school-ers have insomnia
and then we start having delusions
hallucinations without the LSD
Anxiety levels are through the roof
and I think that's all I have to say

We're all going insane to meet the demands of regular life
We're pushing away our favourite foods so we can see our bones
We're resorting to anything that will keep us awake or put us out

This is the story of Jeni Haynes, whose father inflicted horrific physical and ****** abuse on her from the age of four years old. As a result she created over 2000 alter egos to get her through it.
This is my account written with respect and love as  I feel she would tell it, just because some stories deserve a voice.

Dedicated to Symphony,
- For saving my life.

’I am an army,
A force of alter egos forged from the furnace of necessity.
Banded together in permanent transience,
Called forth by the voice purity.’
————————-
I am Symphony,
I’m 4
I came to Jeni first to comfort her through the pain,
Through the torture and torment of lamented youth,
I sang songs to mask the sounds of abuse,
Turned her face inwards,
Jeni found me because she needed me,
But I was not alone.
————————
There’s Judas and Muscles,
There always here,
Alters of Jeni’s yesteryear
‘We are hundreds,
thousands - an army to face,
We’re her solace,
Some of us permanently echoing inside,
some of us hide,
Some of us have a singular purpose,
All of us have the same intention,
To protect our Jeni without exception.’
—————————-
I am Jeni,
I have MPD  so they tell me,
DID is what it’s meant to be,
But I’m just me !
No one ever told me there shouldn’t be more,
Personalities and people behind the door,
So it’s perfectly normal inside my mind,
Just not what you would expect to find.

They call it abuse but it was way past that,
I cowered and cringed,
Paralysed with fear,
Praying he wouldn’t hear,
It was unavoidable,
Inescapable,
I couldn’t prevent it,
I was incapable,
Cried myself dry,
It was torture,
Repeated and repeated and repeated,
Through every sense,
The smell, the taste, the feeling and the pain,
So much pain,
Then Symphony came and things changed.
She brought with her so many,
An army to protect me inside,
Where I could hide,
They took it in turns.
Little Rikki was laid with the task,
It would brake his heart apart,
Each time he would send someone in my place
To face the horrors of my father to face,

And they did suffer,
Every alter, every time,
They passed the poisoned chalice between themselves,
Not letting it near me,
Keeping me inwards so I couldn’t see,
Without their sacrifice,
I don’t know where I’d be.
Crazy maybe.

There was Jay who spoke truth,
Kept me in line all the time,
Tried to protect me,
Run Jeni run
But he couldn’t protect me,
It would always be done.

They weren’t in my head - they were me,
Every one you could see,
I would let them step forward,
They would fulfil their need and then they’d step back,
It’s as natural as that.
It’s survival,
My solution,
A forced evolution of spirit and mind,
I was forced to find.
I’m not ill,
I’m just different.
This is who I am.
I am Jeni Haynes,
We all are in a roundabout way.

I asked people to help,
Told those of rank,
Drew blank after blank,
I’d accused my father of horrific acts,
Given the facts it’s not a topic that attracts.
So it was on me.

I studied,
One day they would see,
I subjected myself to the learn to have power,
In words and knowledge,
These are the weapons of modern times,
And I needed them more than ever.
I studied  psychology, Justice and crime,
Then I tried again.
This time I spoke their language,
I broke their arguments and lay waste to their  fears.
This time they would listen,
And they did.

I am strong,
Battle worn and worthy,
I have power more than most,
I could withstand pain,
Rained upon me over years of suffering,
I had focus,
Honed from an army that knew where to look,
And I had help,
We were heard,
We won our day in court,
That man that called himself my father,
Extradited from his exile,
Brought forth to testify for the wrongs he’d committed.
My 2hrs in court validated my years of silent abuse.
We spoke individually with one voice,
No plan,
I let those with the answers take the stand,
6 came forward to help me beat the one,
And they did,
He confessed,
Finally my fight could be laid to rest.

This is my story,
*****, buggered and systematically abused,
This is my story,
Of Symphony finding me broken and bleeding,
This is my story,
Of waging war against my father,
This is my story,
Of taking back me.
All of me,
Every part of me,
Until finally - I could see.

Jeni Haynes,
“May you find the peace you deserve.”

Martial law inapropos to stave, staunch,
and stem police brutality,
nevertheless commander in chief
will violently barrel ahead
particularly when blatant iniquities
flagrantly heaped upon
innocent dark skinned human bodies,
who far to often get accosted, beaten, choked
without justice, but
judged guilty merely existing.

Protestations within metropolitan urban areas
all across the United States
sparking riots else within world
began in Minneapolis on May 26, 2020
following the death of George Floyd
coroners determine cause of death asphyxia
after Minneapolis Police Department (MPD) officer
Derek Chauvin knelt on his neck
for 8 minutes and 46 seconds.

Akin to striking a match
into highly flammable liquid
diverse people expressed legitimate rage
against machinations targeting humans,
whose obvious epidermal pigment
unwittingly sacrifices said
dark skinned people burnt offerings.

Sacrificial lambs only become martyrs,
yet sadly never realize their true value, nor
relish (hot diggity dog) purposefulness
cuz her/his mortality nipped in (figurative) bud
when precious life cruelly stolen.

As iterated courtesy similar
crafted by yours truly
persons falsely hash tagged recalcitrant
(predominantly boys and/or men)
exhibiting physiognomy proclaiming
African American, Australia,

Haiti, Melanesia, Papua
New Guinea and South Asia...
as motherland, more so
black immigrants comprise
growing proportion of said
racial (constituency) population.

Usually no culpability
linkedin with rudely mistreated individual,
whose inalienable (inherent) rights:
life, liberty and pursuit of happiness
hijacked solely predicated upon bigotry.

I (despite Caucasian visage)
plus concomitant anatomical accouterments
immediately grant badge of honor
and status of greater worthiness,
when doggone truth
does not merit me

automatic immunity against racial profiling
nsync, where upon birth said black people
unfairly falsely labeled hooligan
disproportionately assumed accountable
regarding crimes and misdemeanors
essentially faulting gregarious person

unknowingly caught in crosshairs
where twenty first century bounty hunter
experiences little or no compassion
towards dignified people,
whereat mine preferred modus operandi
to communicate utter disgust

(think malevolent treatment)
at mercy of cops,
née outright killers
more keen to loose a deadly bullet
versus win/win situation
comprising proactive conversations.

Though red hot poker anger
clearly evidenced courtesy
peaceful altercation (granted hoodlums
abound within fray to wreak bedlam),
but initial and foremost justification
explaining madding crowds
solely seeking redress asper grievances

maiming or killing decent,
kind, respectable neighbor
which hypothetical gal/guy going
about her/his ordinary business
all the while watched, scrutinized, notated...
simply because she/he happens
to belong to proud people of color!

I believe the pen (er... or keyboard)
more powerful than the sword
(substitute agitation, fisticuffs, melee...)
to recognize dignity of brethren and sistern
despite superfluous characteristic namely
melanocytes in some individuals and ethnic groups
which produce variable amounts of melanin.