She is nothing like me

Nothing like me

Gingerly I type the words, wondering if I may be the only person who thinks like this. god’s daughter is turning out to be more appalling than horrific, more repulsive than disgusting. I can feel her like black tar in my mind. She calls me to write her out – to layer her like a black wedding cake, all the details – the spiders, the webs, the cockroaches, the mould and dusty aura of her mind. The corners of her life are all in shadow, a shadow I have to be brave enough to step into and feel the darkness that is god’s daughter. She wants to be created but she doesn’t want me – I am nothing to her, just like everyone else.

And she is nothing like me…

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Crystal Meth-I-Didn’t-Mean (Methamphetamine)

methididntmean-drugabuse_shutterstock-164052779-blowing-smoke-cloud-meth-fi

Crystal Meth

An addicts’ breath

Inhales a smoky dream

In reality

You’re never free

Just a brains’ endless scream

Crystal Meth

Talk in depth

Required by any means

Close to death

That last crystal breath

It’s not as great as it seems

Crystal Meth

Families bereft

Bury a loved one, crying

Cold caress

This Crystal Meth

And our children keep on dying

© Kait King, 2016

You know you know…..

you know you know

You already know –

You know you’ve

known for ages

But just didn’t

want to look into that ugly face

or go to that ugly place

You knew months ago

when he was angry with you

when all you did

was be excited he was home

and he turned his back

and left you there alone

You already knew

when you could

smell the hint of perfumes

that you know you

don’t wear

Those whispered

phone calls

He doesn’t want you

to hear

You already know –

you know you’ve known

for ages

but just didn’t

want to look

into that ugly lying face

or go to that ugly empty place

© Kait King, 2015

After the Fact

After the Fact

He rolled her up in the carpet

He tied her up real tight

He threw her into the trunk of his car

And screeched out into the night

He knows he must not draw attention

He must slow down his breath and calm

He drove around for hours

With her body in the back of his car

Delusional or clear of mind

It really didn’t matter

He was clear enough to clean up the mess

And removed all her blood he splattered

He contemplated water

He thought about the dump

He thought about a mountain top

He could make it look like she jumped

As dawn approached, a screaming light

His stomach started to rumble

So he drove her through the drive thru

And didn’t miss a beat or fumble

A steady hand held out dollar bills

But his eyes he kept downcast

Not a thought spared for his wife in the trunk

The love that didn’t last

© Kait King, 2015

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

Home time!

hometime

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

Keyhole Kid

keyhole kid

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

Fandamily

family-guy-3

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

The Empty Room

the empty room

I remember being trapped in a lift once. At first it didn’t occur to me to panic – being the reasonably stable individual I am. I just slid down the elevator wall and squatted at the bottom, thinking of other things to while the time away. What really planted that little seed of fright was when the intercom crackled on and some disjointed voice announced that there was going to be a slight delay – yeah right! A delay as in repairs being made to cabling blah blah blah. That’s when something started chewing at the base of my brain. I could feel that icy trickle of panic beginning to seep into and numb the rational part of my brain. I imagined the lift plummeting down thirteen storeys with me in it. A compact human body, being mine of course – discovered under the dusty rubble. Or maybe in three years time, after not wanting to repair the lift they find a grinning skeleton – or perhaps just my crushed bones…

Well I started chewing my fingernails. I say that, but it’s not the actual nail bit but the little pieces you can shred off the side. Making my thumb bleed didn’t help at all and I was eternally grateful to the Universe that I wasn’t a hemophiliac. So then I started pacing out the elevator for size. It was four by four, or by six or four by eight or something. After a while the size didn’t matter – and I never thought I would say that with absolute honesty, but it didn’t. After a while my squares turned into circles and I was still gnawing at my fingers, nails inclusive now.

The appalling thought of needing to pee enveloped me and I was shamed into believing that I would just have to release my bodily functions in this confined space should it come to that.

At least two hours had passed and I was beginning to feel strange – almost like I was in a shimmery bubble. Fortunately they let me out, tearful and shaky, about twenty minutes later. Two and a half hours is a long time to be stuck in a lift – I truly thought I was going to go insane.

I’ve never been one to be claustrophobic or anything, but that lift episode really scared the begeezuz out of me. I always took the stairs after that, I just couldn’t get in a lift. Well I went for a drink with a friend of mine who had always been really terrified of heights. He said his worse fear was that he would be pushed out of a window or fall out of a building from too high up to survive. He said he had nightmares about it and it was absolutely ruining his life; work-wise and socially – let alone emotionally and the psychological toll a lack of sleep was taking on him. He said he dreamt of his arms frantically flailing to reach a hold that he could see but always he clutched at nothing. He screamed for help helplessly, as no one would ever hear him. His lover would wake him up as he had been screaming in his sleep and often hit them with his flailing limbs. Now I’d never experienced anything like that. Never had I suffered from “bad dreams” or nightmares of being trapped in a confined space at all, or trapped. When I was a kid we would hide in boxes and cupboards during games or to give someone a fright. I never felt trapped or scared then, just anticipatory. I was the frighter not the frightee and it was exciting. I could wait for ages in the crawlspace, tiny aperture or cupboard waiting for my prey to step by. Or huddle tightly and quietly in some of the darkest and smallest places, waiting to be found.

Many so-called professionals say that you should live out your fear and it will solve your problem – but I wasn’t afraid. I met my friend again and we went out for lunch. I asked him about his own phobia about heights and falling. “Well, y’know…” he said between bites, ” I know myself that this stuff is just in my head. I’ve spent a fortune on shrinks and been to a few – they all say the same thing – it’s in your mind, babe.” He stopped eating and looked at me while his tongue sought the escapee’s around his mouth and tidy teeth. “Doesn’t mean I’m cured though….” he mumbled and carried on eating.

But it did make sense. It was all in my head, my stupid brain, my over-active imagination and analytical mind. No matter how many times I told myself this though, I still could not get into a lift. Moving or otherwise I couldn’t do it. I knew I had to be brave and thought of ways to make it less traumatic. In fact it might be easier if I see a bunch of people in a lift I could squeeze in – at least I wouldn’t be all alone. There would be someone to talk to.

So today’s the day! I have decided to find a people-packed lift. I will walk through those lift doors and they will close. I will be carried up to my destination and everything will be just fine. Absolutely fine. Well…I did it! I went in the lift, sure I hyperventilated a little and blamed the air-conditioning. It’s not like I was scared or anything like that. I journeyed to the first floor but walked back down via the stairwell. The lift was busy, too packed. All you do is stand around waiting to get in and then get spewed out on one floor or another – it was a waste of time when you could just walk.

Life seems to be so much better in the summertime. Everything regains its glamour and beauty. Even people do – well some of them. Summer is a time for barbecues, hot late nights, swimming, playing and loving. We went on wild yachting weekends, champagne breakfasts and innumerable parties. We took off for an amazing holiday in Honolulu – total luxury and decadence. There were white sandy beaches, hot sun, beautiful people and drinks served in hollowed out fruits. We were there for three weeks and came back home ready to knuckle down and work. Refreshed, renewed and invigorated. No time for lifts – what lifts?

Ignorance is bliss. It’s no big deal – I’m just not interested in travelling in elevators or lifts. Some people are not interested in baking or stamp collecting either. I had heard a story about a woman who was terrified of germs and she used to hold her breath when she was in a hospital or medical clinic of some sort. She kept fainting, she was so terrified that her brain overrode the fear so that she could keep breathing and would knock her out! Now, come on – I am no way that bad. I mean that is silly, air is a necessity – I know, I’ve been trapped in an elevator.

The weird thing is, I’ve been having these really weird dreams about elevators. I was mainly travelling through space in them and I feel very very edgy, unsafe. Like some feminised Doctor Who in an elevator not a phone booth…ridiculous. But I would wake up sweating and feeling incredibly anxious, as if I was waiting for something to happen to me. No, more like expecting something to happen to me. It’s no biggie though – I can cope, it’s just a little disruptive to my sleep pattern, is all.

A couple of nights later I’m lying fast asleep and I dream I’m shooting unpredictably through space and it suddenly jolts to a halt. I wait – the doors open and it’s a hospital. I have to hold my breath or the germs will get in and smother me, my lungs, eat through my heart and brain. This is not good – panic has set in and I’m holding my breath, holding. I’m pressing the buttons in the lift – even just to close the door! I feel like I’m pressing the buttons through the wall and nothing is connecting. I’m stuck in this lift – the worst thing that could ever happen to me. I can feel my face cracking as tears and sobs are overriding the desire to not breathe in disease. Thank God I’m breathing though. The breathing is turning into convulsions, I’m going to die in that elevator and it’s dawned on me. I scream so hard the veins pump blood in rushing gulps to my head. My face is all screwed up and ugly. Somehow I’m looking down on myself – I’m watching me die, it’s almost funny.

I wipe my face with the back of my hand. The snot and tears are all down my face and like a gibbering idiot I am begging anyone and anything to let me out. I see myself in the metal walls, my clothes look so dishevelled and I don’t know when it happened but the doors had closed sometime during my hysterical tantrum. I bang on the doors and walls, air seems to be hard to suck in – like it’s syrup. Suddenly things slow down, I watch my tears thud into the company carpet. Slowly it occurs to me that the elevator is my coffin and I am dying in it. I always thought I’d be dead before I got this far! You are supposed to be dead before you got put in a coffin. This is unbelievable. But here I was, scratching at a coffin lid. Splinters of wood from the detail around the metal find their way up under my fingernails. It hurts but I don’t care. I’m bleeding but I don’t care. I’ve gone beyond. My clothes are drenched with sweat and the heat and closeness is overbearing. I feel the walls getting closer and closer and fortunately I blacked out and don’t remember anything else.

Apparently they found me in my bedroom wardrobe. The door was pretty scratched up and covered in my blood and so was I. I was unconscious when they found me, as I mentioned and I guess I’m lucky to tell live to tell the tale – passing out is most probably what saved me.

I woke up screaming about the elevator apparently, and that still happens now and again – maybe even more now. Everyone here at the hospital tries to tell me it’s only an empty room. But I know better than that. They have elevators there if you wait patiently – when you’re a patient there’s not much else to do but waiting. And like they say, it’s all in the mind and mine goes there.

Not a good time…

Not a good time

Inky black, I’m sucked back

down to her dark depths

Like an octopus her story wraps me in its tentacles

A stranglehold on stories told

and the ink she has spread across the page I can’t see through

I think I’m drowning…it’s sticky black and I should come up for air

even though my mouth is open to suck grace in -nothing fills my lungs

even though my eyes are open there is nothing – nothing but darkness

inky blackness the colour of the story told with the pain of being buried alive

© Kait King, 2015

A Treasured Life

Me n my Dad

My Dad and Me It was so sad to watch you fade your mind as sharp as a knife It was so hard to say goodbye To such a treasured life It made me smile to think on you a while and on how you loved your wife Your children given all you had you gave a treasured life It seems that you are still here although you can’t be seen I often talk to you And not just in my dreams I hope I told you I loved you enough I hope you know how much I cared And I know one day, I’ll see you again Somewhere over there… © Kait King, 2015

Just Because….

Just because

Just because he’s fat

you can’t leave him out

like that

And even if it’s so

inside he’s like you,

y’know

And even when we’re angry

and think we are not wrong

it’s best to love and forgive

and learn to get along

Just because she’s different

and cannot see by choice

take a moment to listen

to her gifted singing voice

Because everyone’s born perfect

from different points of view

and the world would really be

quite boring

if they were all like me

and you

© Kait King, 2016