Dude you need a Tic Tac!

squirrel kiss kitten

If you are able to correct something

that is harmfully wrong ~

Then it must be done.

© Kait King, 2015

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Daily grind of a good guy

Daily grind

I come home

the cat’s at my feet

kids are crying

but there’s nothing made to eat

It’s a hard day at work

with paper knee deep

and the heater’s broken

so I can’t get to sleep

Yet another day comes

we follow like sheep

I can’t find the faith

to make that big leap

I know I shouldn’t take it in

so very, very deep

But it seems to be sort of extra hard

when you aren’t someone who cheats

© Kait King, 2015

What I want to believe Real Women want

what i want to believe real woman want

I’m quite happy being a Woman

I don’t want to be a Man

I don’t want to scratch my nuts

or take out the trash can

I don’t understand the confusion

about the Man and Woman sequel

Of course we are very Different

Different, but still very Equal

I am proud to be the Carer

The Fantastical Giver of Life

the gentle softness of

a safe place to fall

When you return from

a hard days’ fight

My Man, the strong Protector

The Bringer of that Life

who will be Honoured to care for me Truly

and with Pride

would call me his Wife

© Kait King, 2015

Being the Ogre

being the_Ogre

You promise you’ll be home tonight

to kiss the kids and hold me tight

You tell me it won’t be the same

until it happens once again

You say I am the only one

and what’s been done can’t be undone

I stay quietly alone all through the day

watching our kids grow and play

and when the door opens later at night

they think you’re home, that they are all right

But bedtime comes and they can’t wait up

I am the ogre who’s taken their pup

Little do they know you don’t give a damn

Fathers’ like you shouldn’t be called men

© Kait King, 2015

I Just Wanted

i-just-wanted

I just wanted

to be happy

As baffling as

that may seem

I just wanted to

spread Kindness

Remove the idea

of being mean

I just wanted

to have Peace

As impossible as

that seems

but it’s ok, they say,

to always have dreams

There is no need to

“stand your ground”

It isn’t yours, for a start

It will still be here

When we’re not around

It’s much better to leave

a piece of your Heart

© Kait King, 2016

Do the Right Thing

do the right thing

I saw a man dragging a puppy

that didn’t want to go

And everyone else in the street didn’t want to know

“Don’t get involved!” said a nervous Mr Hay

And he crossed over the street

to walk the other way!

I saw a brother pinch his little sister

on her tiny arm

How could anyone want to do

another body harm?

“Don’t get involved!” said a spiteful Miss Melissa

She won’t play with me at school

and is meaner than her sister

I saw a man shout

and push a woman to the ground

She bowed her head and was crying

but you couldn’t hear a sound

“Don’t get involved!” said a crabby Mrs Mend

And I wondered for over a month

if that poor woman had a friend

But now I’m older and I know better

I want to pass this message on

If there’s a body in need

you must always take heed

Because nobody wants to go through it

alone

© Kait King, 2015

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.

Fused, but not at the hip

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 wish I could tell her

I wish I could tell her

While she’s trying harder

working it out

all her problems, hangups, pity and

self-doubt

And she tries too hard to achieve

because she’s lonely, angry,

she’s had no love to eat

And as far as this woman knows

it’s like a picture, no – a painting

or a movie, too slow

As far as this woman knows

it’s like fighting the fight

but not a fight that you chose

So she’s crying alone

no sleep at night

I wish I could find her

and tell her –

it will all be all right

© Kait King, 2015

Mother’s Day every day

My Mum and Dad in Queen St, Auckland 1956

I walk down the aisle

my eyes passing over cards

words springing out

about Mum going

the whole nine yards

And I stop to read a few

The words just seem

insipid

when I think of you,

Mum

A journey into the intrepid

Four babies later

and over 60 years married

Through wars, tonsillitis,

tears and love you tarried

Now here I am

a mother too

And these words I say: “I love you”

Have also come

from my son’s mouth

and heart

But to say them to you

doesn’t even begin to start

to express what a fantastic Mum you’ve been

You’ve done a good job,

I’m a good human being

So I tell you you’re an amazing Mum

and people are proud of the job you’ve done!

© Kait King, 2015

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.

Look at me…

Vintage mod rock

Look at me

waffling on

happy as a bee

Look at me

skipping through life

thinking I’m free

Look at me

that wistful child

once so wild

and now independent

and grown

Look at me

with 3 under 3

and a house I don’t

even own

Look at me

shared weekends

if we’re lucky

And I know you’ve been

sucking

someone else’s cherry

lip gloss

Look at me

bitter days

long nights

spent watching crap TV

Never to be

free – the very unhappy

divorcee

© Kait King, 2015

Lucky

Lucky

Every second we suck in air, a child is hurt or dying somewhere in the world – that makes air a pretty high commodity and a very expensive way to look at breathing our air. Therefore make it worthwhile, make it count, but make it count in love and kindness, caring and passing on joy – not just to children but to all. Breathe your air with purpose, you’re really lucky, every day is a blessing 🙂 Kait King 2016

The gift is Home

our family

Nothing says home like the food you know, the smells that trigger head movies and the comforting arms and hands that picked you up and helped you mix and stir and “help” cooking when you were a kid. They now welcome you back into the fold, embrace your grown-upness but still visualised as the child, as you will always be. Family time is noise in the kitchen, clattering dishes and chattering mouths – we women of many words create more warmth with our talking breath, better than the lukewarm sun does, trying to impress us through a shameless glass. The men, young and old – three generations of my blood, gather around the finger food that has been laid out to stop them from starving before the main meal…if you believe that, you will believe anything.

My father, the patriarch, his unwilling body fighting his sharp, determined mind – his sharp, determined mind that used to beat his body has put its hands up and retreated. His brain is stronger than anything else, bar maybe his heart. He peers over his heavily framed glasses all the better to see a watch face his grandson has handed him to look at. His 80 year old eyes squint and recognise, the information is swift and he says the battery is a blah blah…..his mind as sharp as a knife. His son-in-law hands him a glass of wine which he carefully holds, the glass is heavy and cumbersome to him, due to his muscular dystrophy. He already can’t lift the glass to his lips but our mother brings straws with them so that he doesn’t have to.

His grandson, Jay, is a loud kid and is learning to pull his head in, but does show signs of promise with his unresearched fury at certain injustices. Maybe the same way my father felt about all of those things 60 years or more ago. My father brought all of us up to question everything, accept nothing at face value and to take risk in a positive way. He had a strong sense of what was right and fair and he brought four crusaders into the world to carry on that legacy. Give a shit, the majority of the population won’t – so you just have to. It’s your duty as a human being with the gift of life on this earth…

Thought # 1

thought 1

If you’re very rarely or never told “No” or don’t have to wait or work for anything, will it be a harder struggle to get on in the World? (This is based on most normal and reasonable of situations – single or separate parenting included and of course, on a continuum).

In the “Real World” no one else treats you the same way as your parents do. No one else cares the same way for you as your parents do. No one else in the World will give you the same leeway. Will one lack a certain resilience because one can’t deal with a No, or don’t understand why it’s a No?

Your Ego takes a beating, hearing all those ‘yeses’ and how wonderful you are at everything and then a No would just take the wind right out of your sails, it’s a shock. Is it about that resilience? Even against adversity and with all the curve balls life throws you, wouldn’t it be better to be able to face that adversity? I am not talking about being a nagging No Hound about everything – but I do think we need to prepare our children for “out there”! Just tell them the truth, make them stand for something, let them know what their strengths and weaknesses are and let them embrace them all and use them to their best advantage in this crazy Life.

If it is about resilience then we must give our children that strength and fight. They need these things to be able to survive – and not just survive but to live well.

Kait King 2017