My joy
your face
My life
misplaced
My breath
filling space
Alive,
still
© Kait King, 2015
My joy
your face
My life
misplaced
My breath
filling space
Alive,
still
© Kait King, 2015
When I finally find my rhythm and I am the one eager to push forward. When I can’t help but mould and mash a character of no charm, or carefully fine tune a delicate life, an angry spirit, that tortured soul….nothing can stop me. Time is of zero meaning or consequence. Food and water are not necessities, they are interruptions – as is anything else that must drag me from my Frankensteinian stupor. My frenzied, impassioned creation can sometimes make me feel overwhelmingly powerful or incredibly tiny as I realise how childlike my perception might be…or is it drama queen stuff? Not naivete…surely….not another avenue to explore…surely. Let me write it out of me in some shape or form so I can recognise it in some shape or form, not just a passing thought….a forgotten idea, feeling…story. Place the electrodes and blast it into the light, out to the night, encompassed in fright…write, write, write
© Kait King, 2015
You know deep down
inside of you
What is wrong
and when it’s true
You do know that
you have a voice
You can escape if
you make the choice
You know even
if shit goes down
That you will handle it
without
support around
Sometimes you feel like
you’d be better off dead
But you have to
remove those thoughts
Stay positive
Keep your head
© Kait King, 2017
- If you are unable to move your perception around, then you may only be able to write one-dimensionally.
“You don’t need ice-cream to make an awesome Sunday…”
© Kait King, 2016
Andy has a problem
he doesn’t know what to do
there’s a monkey glued to his back
and it’s really chewing through
his heart,
his bank account,
his tired soul
Andy has a problem
he doesn’t know how to say
that he doesn’t want to be here
not for another single day
of hurt,
of frustration,
in an angered mind
Andy knows this problem
he knows what he should do
but it wraps him up and chokes him
and he can’t see his way through
another single day
with no way
to feel
Andy can’t reach out for help
that would just mean pain
How can he reach out for help
when his hand is trapped
by shame
and addiction
and fear
© Kait King, 2015
I don’t believe you have nothing to say
that you don’t want to stand up
and shout
“don’t treat me that way”
I don’t believe you can keep quiet
for very much longer
the hate in you grows stronger
even though you deny it
it kills you every day
I don’t believe there is happiness in you
that you skip through every day
that your glasses are a rose-colored hue
that you are not reliant in almost every way
but that’s just not true
You drag yourself through every day
knowing that he will
punch you
humiliate you
control you
and you want to kill him
for killing you –
you try to think of another way
but nothing else will do
you have no money, no car or hope
this mean,
ugly-spirited human
says you can’t cope
in the real world
But you know that’s not true –
right?
© Kait King, 2015
Sometimes I stare blankly at my computer screen, it gives me nothing back and I have nothing in my head. Yet it feels like something is very close…all I have to do is start. Just start somewhere…even if it’s exactly what is in my head – like “sigh”… They say writing is a discipline and this is very true for me. Even though once I’m actually writing I’m sucked into the void, it is sometimes a struggle to start. I love writing and get lost in the whirlwind of it all, and then wonder – why am I so resistant at times? Am I worried my words will get used up? I won’t have anything to write? And I have to mentally slap myself on the wrist – how shallow I am to think I would have experienced and felt everything there is to feel and experience so I could write about it.
The world and universe are far greater than the capacity my brain has to understand all things. I really am but a grain of sand in the big picture of things. We all are – but grains of sand make stunning beaches and pieces of paradise when put together….I wonder if there is something we should be learning from this? And who would’ve thought that a mere grain of sand on its’ own also had the power to change perspectives. That paradise beach is not so out of reach for the human race – if only we all stuck together to keep paradise a paradise…
Does it sting?
Can you feel
my hate
my anger
blistering at you?
Inflamed and furious
that not even the
Herculean strength of my own
sanity will tie it down
My bitterness seeps out
of my pores
leaving a trail of
achingly sad tearful
nights and aimless lonely
days
Does it sting?
Can you feel me
loathing you from afar?
My hate for you is so
giant – it has to be visible
surely you can feel this
surely you know I am hating you
betrayed by you, unforgiving
of you – surely….
What do you mean, he’s got another girlfriend?
© Kait King, 2015
She wasn’t afraid
but she was alone
the house was empty
nobody home
She didn’t get angry
she didn’t have to cry
she didn’t even question
that she’s alone at 5 and why
It’s hard to find a window
that opens kind of wide
even for a little person
to end up safe inside
So she huddles on the step
trying to keep warm
wishing, hoping someone comes
before all curtains are drawn
Now it starts to quietly rain
and it’s getting rather dark
So she starts to walk down the road
towards Alberta Park
We never knew what happened
to that little girl alone
I just know she’d still be here
if someone had been home…
© Kait King, 2015
When I wake up
next to you
My heart just
wants to burst
In my sleep
I miss you
Like a screaming
blazing thirst
I drag myself
to work and back
just to see your smile
watch TV
talk a little
and make love for a while
when our rumbling
hungry stomachs
lever us out of our lovers’ nook
naked we open and close cupboards
looking for something to cook
© Kait King, 2015
You will never
have power over me
You’ve taken everything
that you can see
but you will never
have power over me
You will never
have my mind
You’ve beaten me black
held me behind
But I promise, you will never
have my mind
You will never
have my soul
You tell me I’m ugly
stupid and old
But I swear, you will never
have my soul
© Kait King, 2016
Something
is missing
since we’ve
been apart
A part is missing
Something
has been lost
and I thought
it was you
Since you’ve been gone
I thought that piece
was you
A part of me
has been missing
I truly thought
it was you
But when I look at
it closely
it was a part of me
you took –
I was missing
not you
© Kait King, 2016
I was standing at the front desk, chatting to another work colleague and an awkward scrawny middle-aged man came up to the counter. I was in the watch-house at the Police Station. Being closest, I turned to talk to him. Behind me, I could feel everyone else cringe. I wasn’t sure why, but it dawned on me as I chatted with him to find out what he was here for, why the audible intake of air from my colleagues. I was just in work zone and had been troubleshooting all day.
Let me start from the beginning. When I turned up for work that morning – it was like 4 am or something horrific, being shift work. Anyway, we had three women and a man in our team that night and as shift changed over everyone caught up and swapped information – did the hand over thing. Of course we all gossiped about things we had dealt with, seen or heard that day, what the constables had been up to, failed at, succeeded in catching, blah blah blah and of course, some real oddities and this was one of them.
A young detective came into the office after his shift to catch up with us. I must say, he looked a little green around the gills but I didn’t think anything about it at the time. He gathered those of us who wanted to see (only myself and the guy I worked with), some evidential photographs of a case of abuse. It took a couple of seconds for him to get his personal screen and files up. He knew I was interested in the abuse of the vulnerable, certainly children, but the animals, handicapped and elderly were all in my sights and desperately needed help. So the photos upload to his screen and I take a second to understand what I’m looking at. I thought a burnt body initially and then realised she was on a gurney in a hospital with tubes and an oxygen mask swallowing her “White-walker”-type face. I turned to the detective and with a rather incredulous tone asked him if she was actually alive.
“She is,” he said, “she’s still alive. This woman’s son was supposedly looking after her. Somebody who managed to finally get into the house found her and called an ambulance.”
“I just can’t believe someone so thin is still sucking in air! And how old is she?” Her dirty, mottled skin was just managing to cling to the bones of her body. She was filthy – hadn’t been washed properly in years.
“She’s 92. When we got to the hospital they told us that it was a miracle. I personally think maybe not – poor woman. Her son hadn’t fed her properly or washed her, medical needs ignored. She had maggots crawling around in her vagina…”
“What the fuck! Are you serious man!?” I was mortified.
“I knew you’d love this case Kait,” he said smiling up at me from the desk chair. ” Not only that but her toes had fused themselves together – there was green mould and a stink you would never believe possible. She smelt dead but was breathing – the living dead, literally!” he looked quite pleased with himself at the reality of his reference.
“I’m absolutely stunned! So what did her son say…has he been arrested then?” I ask.
“No, not yet anyway – he’s coming in to be assessed by the psyche team and questioned. Apparently he didn’t know he was doing anything wrong…whatever!”
“Good grief! Who’s he been sleeping with if he thinks it’s normal for flies to come out of a woman’s hoohaa!” We had a bit of a giggle – it’s like that in the face of horror. Apparently she had gangrene as well, on her fingers and other extremities. One of the worst abuse cases I’ve ever seen and I’m sure many of the police – even seasoned ones – felt that way too.
So the day carried on and we had all sorts of shit hitting the fan – parolees, detainees, people who had lost kids, found kids, P cooks, drunken idiots, abusive situations – just the usual crap.
So anyway here is this awkward guy in front of me. I am my usual helpful self and ask him what I can do. He tells me he’s here for an interview with a certain detective. I contact the right detective to come and get him from the watch-house, in the meanwhile I say “So are you having a good day?” just to be polite and make his wait in a police station a little less awkward. I had no idea what he was here for – he could be being interviewed as a witness for all I knew. Well this was a trigger question for him as he just spilled his guts to me about how he had hurt his mother even though he was trying to look after her. He told me about the maggots and the mould – as if I was giving him the interview. It only took him a few minutes to vent his story and he stood quietly with his head down in front of my counter.
“How come you didn’t clean her or help her to clean herself?” I asked cautiously, making eye contact with him.
“Well….I….I….” he bumbled along.
“It’s OK,” I said “you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to…” I trailed off.
He looked pleadingly up at me and I could see tears peeking out of the corners of his eyes.
“I want to.” he whispered.
I kept quiet.
He took a deep breath in and said “That’s my mum y’know ? I don’t want to wash her there or her top chest or anything! It’s not right…I’m her son – not even a daughter – I couldn’t do it!” The tears fell off his face. After initially feeling slightly ill talking to him, I found I was feeling sorry for him.
“Hell, I can understand that.” And I certainly could.
“So can you tell me why she’s so thin then? Why didn’t you feed her anything?” I pushed on through because there must be some accountability here. How can he get out of this one? Surely if he’d fed her she wouldn’t look like this. I tried to keep the picture of the poor old woman in my head, the decrepit, stinking semi-corpse that was his mother, to give her justice and keep a strong mind in this.
“I tried – I tried everything but she wouldn’t eat anything! I tried to force her but she choked so badly I was afraid to give her anything…I know now that this was wrong…” he looked down at his shoes, the tears still rolling off his nose and landing on the stations’ loud carpet. “She was my mum and she used to beat the crap outta me if I talked back or didn’t do as she bid. So I listened to her when she shook her head away from the spoon or growled at me, I left her alone….I was scared…” A slipknot of snot was making it’s way out of his nose and I tried desperately to keep a gag down. I managed. I passed him a box of tissues gingerly – not wanting to touch his skin at all.
Thankfully the detective who was going to do the interview arrived and took him through the security doors to an interview room. I stood there for a moment and realised where the blame lay in this. Society, society was to blame. Yes, he was at fault for not contacting the hospital or some sort of care for his mother, but he didn’t know anyone would help him. Surely if his neighbours had just said hello once in a while to the slightly, strange, creepy guy he might not be suffering endless guilt as it dawns on him in his slow mind what he has actually done. And his mother would not have had to suffer the enduring starvation and pain she had. It is about accountability – but who is accountable? We call ourselves a welfare state but whose welfare are we really caring for? I consider this man and his mother both victims in this instance and a severe failure on our many organisations parts. He was charged with numerous offences relating to the abuse of the elderly. I wondered if he wanted to lay charges against his mum for what she had done to him – for the monster she had created in him who would become her living nightmare.
What’s really sad is he will more than likely end up like his mum did….
© Kait King, 2015
“Today’s crazy will become the next Generations’ norm.”
© Kait King, 2016
Death by fright
3 am in the night
when slimy things
crawl with evil
intention
where Coffin Flies fly
and the sky is a scar
that’s all you get to look at
not to mention
a stinking mattress and
a heavy clanking chain
she saw what he did to the other girls’ brain
A frantic
frenzied
desperate head
pleading, begging, wishing
to be dead
Haunting
hurting
watching eyes
that cut glass with spite
coming for you
strangling life
killing you with fright
© Kait King, 2015
Don’t abandon your family
Don’t abandon your children
Don’t abandon your pets
Don’t abandon your responsibilities
Most of all, don’t abandon yourself…
© Kait King, 2017