I knew I loved this family
from the very start
It felt like I’d always been there
and we’d never been apart
With our delicious little secrets
and our family photo art
Boisterous family dinners
and cheeky, jeering remarks
Mum’s delicious orange chicken and
her cinnamon apple tart
I knew I loved this family
from the very start
© Kait King, 2016
confusion
What can we do about child abuse? Phase One – Sexual
I would just like to say this is purely my opinion based on the knowledge and research I have undertaken. I would like to also note that I have absolutely nothing against consenting adults indulging in whatever they agree upon but this is not the case with child abuse. Apologies in advance if I offend anyone, although, not if you’re a paedophile or an abuser or violator of any kind!
1.) Understand the Paedophile
There is no race, country, religion, creed, colour or status that child abuse does not touch. With or without; money, love, two parents, exceptional education or anything and everything money can or cannot buy, will not identify who will and who will not be touched by child abuse. The innate behaviour of a paedophile can’t be changed. I use the word innate as it is – it is a preference that a paedophile is behaviourally, innately (not by choice – like being homosexual) attached to and can’t change. For example, I am a straight female – heterosexual. There is no amount of counselling, medication, psychiatric, religious or any other kind of “help” to be offered to me to change the fact that I am heterosexual – you cannot counsel me into being a lesbian or a fetishist or to like B&D if that is not part of my reptilian brain sexuality and not who I, innately, am.
Perhaps if we took more of an attitude that paedophiles cannot be rehabilitated (as science realised with homosexuality – it is their sexuality and not a choice), perhaps then less harm would come to our children. The majority of paedophiles who go through rehabilitation programmes re-offend again and very quickly. How would you go through life without sexual gratification, particularly during the peak of your hormonal life without any sexual gratification even though there are numerous opportunities for you to fulfil that desire – and yet you can not. This is irrational and unreasonable to expect of someone’s sexuality. Sexuality is what we are hot-wired for as human beings. It is what makes the world turn. So with that being said, with sexuality such a massive part of our being as human beings to survive – how on earth can we possibly expect a known paedophile not to re-offend?
We look at the paedophile through our own eyes and perception – a “non-pedocentric” view, whereas we need to know how a paedophile perceives the world and his opportunity, his innateness and where he can be tripped up. We need to do extensive research into common identifiers paedophiles use to select a child to groom, whether on-line or in the real world scenario. They will be very different scenarios, also whether familial or non-familial grooming. The majority of offending against children was familial, but now with the internet and the availability that strangers have to our children, this is swaying. We need to do everything – not something – but everything to protect OUR children the world over. A society should be measured by the way it takes care of its’ vulnerable populations, not by how many meetings/summits/discussions a country pays for to discuss which assets should be sold or a lot of hot air where nothing changes but the hotel break was lovely and the food was great! For who’s benefit?
This is just the start of something I would like to continue writing about – this is Part One of goodness knows how many pieces, as this topic is fricken massive, but needs to be addressed. It is something that eats away at my heart and soul every day and so I hope whether you agree, disagree, have other stories, please share, please get involved because the more we talk about this, the more we find out, the more we can change. I mean, imagine if we could find out that the majority of paedophiles pick children who, for example, don’t make eye contact or wear the colour yellow – we would at least have something to work with. We must empower our children and remove power from the paedophile. I believe in the 35c solution for paedophiles – or use them for testing instead of our innocent animals – either way, they are taking up OUR kids air that they should not have to fear breathing anywhere at any time.
© Kait King, 2015
In Phase 2 I would like to continue with addressing the innate behaviour of the paedophile and the impossibilities of changing this, but with regards to desire and not just behaviour.
Junkie Corner and Gangster Avenue
Who’s hanging where
and why are they hanging here?
Are they sucking up the light?
Or just too noisy in the night?
Have the neighbors had enough
Are the gangs a tad too tough?
Do they scare you with their masks
and their everyday drug tasks?
Standing on a corner street
a clusterfuck of hopeless
listening to some grind beat
you just need to smoke, pop, toke this
there is no other option
but for crap minimum wage
Nothing there that stops them
And lucky to reach old age
© Kait King, 2015
Letmeout!
My eyes feel
like I’ve rolled them in salt
My brain
just won’t let me sleep
I go through the stories
in my head –
blaming myself and
at fault
No one else
sees me like that
although they often find
the broken me
I’m not that hard
to interpret
My body stops me
being free
and my brain won’t
even let it
© Kait King, 2015
Under Pressure
“Humans are like the weird sea creatures of the Earth,
Change the pressure and we can burst.”
Kait King 2017
Last thought in a Playground
She’s beating the
crap out of me
I want to be
retaliatory
But I can’t find a gap
to even try
and hit back
She kicks me in
my side
Everyone there wants to see
me cry
I can hear their
jeering calls
of magnified echoes
charging through halls
This strange metamorphosis
in sound
is my ticket off
the gravelly ground
And I can see myself
lying there
The group of bystanders
shout and cheer
My body, I see
crumpled like
a sack
And I never even got a chance
to throw a punch back
© Kait King, 2015
Just take more drugs…
Pain eats you up
it gnaws on my
already frazzled nerves
Pain is a game
I play against
my self, my will, my mind
Pain wears me down
it sucks away at my
strength, my soul, my life
© Kait King, 2015
I can’t help it
Lonely words
on a hungry page
I see you through
a love-drenched haze
I’ll make it through
the crying days
I can’t help it that I love you
Bleeding heart
in a tortured mind
I never thought
You could be unkind
But I ll make it through
the hurting time
I can’t help it that I love you
© Kait King, 2015
Changeling
With a chattering
anxiety
A rattle pill-filled
state
the brain-numbing
chemicals
change the look
on
my face
That’s just
on the
outside
inside
it gets bad
Outside
is just a
cosmetic push
Inside –
you can’t change
sad…
© Kait King, 2016
Only Sometimes…
Sometimes I pull my jersey up over my head
or just want to stay curled up in my too big bed
I just want and wish everything to go away
I feel numb, time is timeless and I don’t know what to say
Sometimes it makes me feel like I’m only ten
and I’m playing hide ‘n’ seek again
Sometimes I want to curl into a ball
and say good bye to it all
Sometimes I don’t know if I have the energy to breathe
let alone anything else life has up it’s sleeve
Sometimes I wonder what a life would be like
if I could be set free without string and fly like a kite
Sometimes I doubt what lies in front of me
I try not too look to far ahead as I might not like what I see
© Kait King, 2015
No Problem
Any time and everywhere
when you’re thinking people stare –
you’ve got a problem
If it doesn’t matter what they say
And you think yours is the only way –
you’ve got a problem
When you think you’re doing fine
Everyone else says you’re out of line –
you’ve got a problem
And if you think it stops right here
I don’t think you’re thinking clear –
you’ve got a problem
When a lover walks on out
saying your’e just a lay-about –
you’ve got a problem
© Kait King, 2015
My Joy
My joy
your face
My life
misplaced
My breath
filling space
Alive,
still
© Kait King, 2015
Covidius Insidious
Here comes
A virus
Here comes
A plague
Here comes
The UN
The WHO
Der Hague
Here comes
Mad Max
Here comes
The Stand
Chaotic
Pandemic
Just a question
Of when
And death:
Is it 1 in 2
Or 1 in 4?
Or 6 out of 10?
Or even…
More?
Here is
The second coming
See the
Novel mute
Silent
Violent
Sneaky death
A body
Down a chute
Listen…
Gloves are
Snapping on
Facemasks
In demand
No one knows
This chaos
The world is
Out of hand
Kait King 20/03/20
Does it Sting? – aka Pointless
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
Fused, but not at the hip
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
I Thought It Was You
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 let you go
I’m torn
my soul says
fly, my love
as high as you can
My heart begs
you to stay
as close as you can
to me
I’m torn
my mind says
you must grow
you must be
I let you go
I let you be
I let you be free
© Kait King, 2016
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