Old Words Lost

Kiss it

The Japanese have called this generation “The Strawberry Generation” – this is because they bruise easily, have no resilience and give up in a heart beat. Because everything is so readily available on-line, whether it be from clothes to sex – you can own it, see it, have it – now, pretty much. I notice that our young people are not used to having patience or having to work for anything because everything is just ‘there’. So have we created a generation of spoiled brats? Or impatient and uncontrollably angry and frustrated youths? Are these people going to be the adults that have to look after our elderly generation? I don’t mean to cluster everybody into the same box, as this is not fair or true, but I do believe that many of our young people have these attitudes and belief structures about life.

Along with instant gratification there is also this “throw away mentality”, so we have the availability and the discarding instantaneously, of just about everything. This is now not just the discarding of unwanted objects like clothes or a cell phone, but the discarding of humanity. We throw away so much – even letters that belong in words. But that’s ok – I get it, it’s simpler, quicker, textier….it just feels like the next generation is forgetting how to spell – or never learned, or how to use grammar – capital letters, even. It just seems a little sad…and throw away, and wasteful…and sometimes fucking annoying to try and decipher when I shouldn’t be bothering anyway, but I do try.

I don’t think I would care so much if I wasn’t so into words, language, creating stories or getting a point across. I don’t want to live without words like devotion, loyalty, dignity, grace, honour. Not only that, but I want those words to be relevant in day to day relationships – at home, at work, at play. To operate in the world with dignity, with grace – these things seem not to have been shown to many young women. I want those words returned to us as women, I want them to be a part of how women are described. Not skanks, sluts, bitches, snobs, beeatch and every other name that is used to describe us these days.

And who wants to be loyal to, devoted to or honour a slag anyway?

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Gasping for Air

Gasping for air

Love flutters

like a drowning butterfly,

swallowed up

whole –

Struggling to keep my

head above the

ripples of your heart

Yet still wanting to be

hopelessly – no,

recklessly

flung into those depths

drowning…

drowning…

Is a child molester worse than a child killer?

is a child molester worse

I just want to clarify that without a doubt – no form of abuse or harm, whatsoever to any living thing, is alright by me. I spend most of my waking moments and my work towards protecting our kids and vulnerable populations like animals, the elderly and handicapped as well. That was my whole focus for completing my Criminology degree – to be an advocate and a voice for those who cannot speak for themselves. With my psyche background, curiosity and life experiences I am led to many thoughts. Some I didn’t even know I would contemplate before I started my journey into crime and the criminal mind (as it were :)) I myself, have an analytical mind and like to have answers to things until there are no more questions left to wonder! And so with this in mind, I wonder if a child molester/abuser is worse than a child killer? I think to myself at least the child is dead at the hands of the killer and not turned into the living dead by the pedophiles in the world? My beliefs allow me to believe that the spirit of the murdered child will get a chance to return to the world if that is what existence means, but like I say – the child left alive is trapped in a living hell of self-doubt and self-flagellation/torture and that’s after the abuse has ceased. Sexual molestation is usually a prolonged relationship – an ongoing grooming and manipulation in order to keep the secret and obtain what the predator wants. Sometimes this goes on for years and is often times familial, or someone known to the victim, creating more guilt and a necessity for secrecy due to shame and embarrassment. So which is worse? Either way the victim and their family suffers and never would or should anyone have to make a choice between the two, but I am curious as to others’ understanding of the actual offender. And I also believe that if we discuss things like this more, we will gain a greater understanding of the predator and how we keep our children safe… So back to my question whether the child molester is worse than the child killer? Or are they just as bad as each other because whichever way you cut it, the life of the victim is taken away – physically or life as they should know it – but gone for good so that nothing is ever the same.

Your Old Sweaty Shirt

sweaty tshirt

That’s the last thing you wore

that held your warm body close

It was the last thing before

your heart and pressure slowed

A cloth got to finally hold you

something I never got to do

People say that it was better that way

But I don’t know if that’s quite true

I hold your once sweaty t-shirt

drenched now with my own tears

and try to inhale what’s left of you

As it fades from all the years

© Kait King, 2015

No Regrets

life's too short grudges

Did they say they didn’t

want to know you?

Could you pick your father out

in a crowd?

Did your mama love

and leave you

And you were left crying

out loud?

I wont’ listen to your

estranged olden day voices

when men were men

and women had no choices

Were you just a sad

disappointment?

Did they help when you

were down?

And what about now that

they are not here

Did you say the Love word

while they were still around?

© Kait King, 2015

My Dancing Feat

My dancing feat

There were just

too many

in this crazy crowd

Crushing in on

me

So I’m unable to

shout out loud

It was just

way too

noisy

in that clamouring

sweaty swarm

Body smells too

pungent

The air I breathe in

is warm

The darkness

has a dampness,

a claustrophobic clamp

The lighting bulbous

and hypnotic –

like a giant lava lamp

A pulse

united in

a passionate beat

And ignoring all

the warning signs,

I’m led by my dancing feet

© Kait King, 2016

If I lay in your arms

If I lay in your arms

If I lay in your arms

on your chest

near your heart

I can feel the pulse

of your veins

the beating of chambers

the haunting hush of air in lungs

If I lay in your arms

my head on your shoulder

near your mouth

I can feel the warmth

of your breath

see the curve of your lips

I want to crush with my own

If I lay in your arms

my body rested against you

touching skin

I can sense the need in you

the desire in me

the smelting ore of us both

even in rest

If I lay in your arms

© Kait King, 2015

All the ink

all the ink

There is no other way to write

the truth spills from the soul

an eager hand and frenzied mind

I scribble out my fill

The scratching on the paper

the lead shines the ink glows

what I will write next

I don’t even know

but the truth is how it is easy

to tell what must be said

and there is an urgency in this

as one day we are dead

My fingers ache at times

as I just can’t seem to stop this flow

of words into lines a cadence reached –a drop
The wonder in me wonders

I speak it loud and often think

If I keep on writing like this

Will there be enough ink?

© Kait King, 2015

Music Love

music love

Music to my ears

bouncing round my soul

shining through my eyes

making me feel full

precious stones of a polished melody

the funky bass is outta sight

pulling strings in harmony

the drums all sittin’ tight

the words are lazy, cruisey, bluesy

summer feeling

stealing through

the music drifting, holding

lifting

Music Love is true

my Music Love is true…

© Kait King, 2015

Here, take the knife

here take the knife

Carve the edges off your haunting pain

With time as sharp as a knife

the moments slide by in an agonizing grind

You’ll have this moment for the rest of your life

My feet sunk deep in a cement grip of permanence

a ball and chain of grief connects my soul to the earth

My bones and skin just vehicle remnants

My soul will have rebirth

© Kait King, 2015

For the Love of Rastus – R.I.P 20th May 2016

rastas

A bright orange glow

you sit in the hedgerow

thinking you are hidden

and will get to catch the forbidden

but little do you know

your gingerness does show

even though you’re so still sitting

your camouflage seems to be what’s missing

You see the birds and can contain the frolics

but I’m sorry Rastas –

You stand out like dog’s bollocks!

You must wonder how come you don’t catch a bird

they must look at you and think you’re absurd

You’ll never catch them in your bright orange coat

Or feel their silky feathers in the back of your throat

I’ve seen the odd field mouse stiff on the bricks

but I just know, that’s not how you want your kicks

A crispy crunchy sparrow or a larger tasty minor

or perhaps a tender inside bird, something a little finer…

© Kait King, 2015

But I’ve already paid!

Already paid

With some leftover tea

I chuck some painkillers at me

A certain kind of guilt and

a definitive disgust wash over me

I fight every day

to keep a smile on my face

being strong, overcome

I have a new life to embrace

I know this is not what

I signed up for

I’ve paid the full price

for so much more

But I guess some you win

and some you lose

So I experience my life

in a different pair of shoes

But I’m still so sure

I was destined for so much more

so much more

I’ve already paid for

© Kait King, 2015