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…
Kait King
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…
Kait King

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

Lovers locked
in this bittersweet
ride
Trapped in the momentum
a beat of the heart
Skipping through hope
not a care in the
world
Lovers locked close
just a boy
and a girl
© Kait King, 2015

There’s a part of me
that will always go on
I’ve shared this with our Mother Earth
She called him my son
There’s nothing so wild
as the ride that we’re on
mother and child
a bond
we hold on
And there you were
with paintbrush eyelashes
A baby blue blanket
and everything about you was so small
And here you are
with a shy tattoo on you
An eye, ear, lip piercing
And everything about you now is tall
There’s all of you
that makes me smile
When you hug me so big and
hang around for a while
There’s you and me and then
everybody else
I never knew that it would be you
to teach me about myself
© Kait King, 2015
I love you Jay 🙂 xxx

It’s your eyes
It’s your mouth
It’s your smile
your heart
your laughter
But it’s my heart
my fear
It’s my love
my hope
That’s what I’m after
Kait King 2017

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

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…

Just before a storm there’s that heavy aching feeling in the sky and electric air. It’s as if the god’s have eaten too much and they have swelled up the sky and filled it with their tautness.
The grasses, trees and shrubs are dead still and almost magnified – waiting – straining and erect for those precious drops of rain to fall upon them so that they too, like the gods, may gorge themselves on welcome water and be able to store up enough supplies to last them through the harder times in between.
I sat just outside to the left of my tent under a tree. I am watching for all the ‘damp animals’ – the one’s who like to frolic and dance amongst the drops as if giving thanks to those glorious gods who have so very kindly provided life support once again.
Gorgeous George is playing with some of the dry leaves that are beginning to stir from being whispered at a little too strongly by the ground winds that slowly pick up as the storm intensifies.
George is my kitten, only not so little anymore – I decided to bring him with me again – I had no idea that he would bring me so much comfort here out in the vast scrubland of Africa.
There is a small lizard; I can see him panting on a flat rock. His breaths are short – he’s sniffing the moist air- totally immobile. George has seen him too and stops fighting his leaf. Slowly he sinks a few centimeters closer to the ground – his eyes almost fully taken up with the expanded pupil. Wriggling furiously he prepares to pounce – still miles away from what he believes is an unknowing lizard. Changing tactics he stalks a little closer. The lizard has seen George now but seems unintimidated. Peering out from under a stalk of whispy grass, 2 out of ten for camouflage George, his whiskers straining, he leaps. His intense energy and passion catapult him well past the intended target which scuttles in between the cracks in the rock unscathed…for now.

It’s a Universal sickness
where nobody seems
to care
Our priorities are different
and now we don’t know how
to share
It’s a Universal sickness but
does anyone really want
to hear?
Does anybody even notice
the hopeless standing there?
Please show me a place that’s different
where people have a sense
of Universal share
© Kait King, 2016

Don’t you leave me
left behind
Don’t you cut me
out of your mind
Can’t you see you’re here all alone?
Can’t you hear your heart say
This is home?
Don’t you hurt me for ever more
Don’t you walk away
and leave it all
You can’t hold me like that
then let me go
There’s something more
that you don’t know…
© Kait King, 2015

In my kitchen
like a mad scientist
mixing and concocting
a kitchen bitch’s bliss
I stir the witch’s cauldron
a punch of that
a pinch of this
many mouths share muffled mmmm’s
a kitchen bitch’s bliss
© Kait King, 2015

I know I’ve never loved
anyone, anywhere
in any way even
close to the way
I love you
I’ve never hurt
anyone, anywhere
in any way
more than I’ve tortured
myself
about you
© Kait King, 2015

You stand there
not knowing what to do
you can’t believe the Police are here
surely this isn’t true?
A blue light spins around the room
you can see the body
shadowed by gloom
It’s all surreal, but what you had to do
If you hadn’t grabbed that knife
the body would be you
You look down at your shaking hands
oddly think about how free you are
to meet
your holiday plans
He can’t really be dead – why haven’t
they called an ambulance?
And again, you realize …
that you are here…
just by chance
© Kait King, 2016

Good poetry is knowing when to stop the rhyme
Whether it’s two or two hundred
and twenty-two lines
© Kait King, 2015

I didn’t die
I’ve just upgraded ….
© Kait King, 2015

There’s anarchy
in the galley
In the kitchen
there’s uproar
The patrons have
ordered something but
there isn’t any more
The tantrumic Chefs
wave teatowels in despair
throw their knives around
and their hands in the air
The one who’s ordered
the supplies
takes a New York stripping down
The Head Chef shouts and
screams a little
wearing his foreign frown
Wildly gesturing – his anger
festering and then
things seem to calm down
Kait King 2015

Mary Bell
what the hell
at ten
was inside your head?
To choke a
little boy of 3
until he’s stone
cold dead
And then to carve
your name in him
the initials MB
in his chest
Did you want everyone
to know
that this work
was your best?
I know your mother
was a prostitute
and she did terrible
things to you
And is she the one
responsible
for making you
into you?
Others have
an even sadder tale
and are left with
deep scars too
but others haven’t
needed to kill
or do the things
you do.
© Kait King, 2015

You crush me
Yes, you’re bigger than me
You’d have to be blind not to see
that you’re twice the size of me
But I’m getting tired of being pushed around
I hate the way you always bring me down
Slutting yourself all over this town
And I lie here so crushed – so deep underground
© Kait King, 2016
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 of 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

Meet me in the middle
and I’ll take you to the end
Tell me that you trust me
and I’ll let you be my friend
Promise me the world
and it’ll fall at your feet
Run the faster race
’cause it’s me you have to beat
Don’t believe in rumours
and they won’t control your life
Believe in what you want to be
and step into that light
© Kait King, 2015

Ted Bundy
Our monsters don’t look
like monsters
There is no way to tell
If they’ll share a slice of Heaven
or bring the hate of Hell
They don’t all have dangerous killer looks
they are not all uneducated and despise books
Look at Ted, a prime example
of a learned man who was extremely harmful
Ted Bundy, yes
he was an educated man
but not smart enough
to avoid the hang man
Then there’s really insane
Like Mr Ed Gein
who danced in the moonlight with his mother’s skin on his face
© Kait King, 2015

Jay and George
Beauty Boundless
child of mine
with hopeful heart
and fascinated mind
Beauty Boundless
land of mine
filled with color
seen by the blind
Beauty Boundless
spirit of mine
where love will rest
till the end of time
© Kait King, 2015

Inky black,
I’m sucked back
down to
her darkest 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
Ashes to ashes
dust to dust
Love won’t last forever
anchored only in lust
Kisses for kisses
I forgive you your past
it’s the only way through
If you want us to last
© Kait King, 2015

I see
the lonely landscape
of an empty soul
Someone incomplete
Someone who’s not whole
It doesn’t take another person
to make you feel as one
You must just believe in yourself
and something to enhance you
will come
© Kait King, 2015

I cry
I cry and I cry
for what I am not
What I am perceived as
is not what they got
I grieve
I break and bend
for what has a future
that already knows the end?
© Kait King, 2015

What’s the difference
when it’s all the same
we go down this road
and come back again
Forgiven you, I haven’t
when it’s caused me
all this pain
and if you try to find me
I’ll fall back into you
again
© Kait King, 2015
If you thought
you knew him
he could be read
like a book
Seeing is believing, baby
turn the page –
take a look
If you thought
you loved him
and he’d do anything
for you
check out his phone
he’s not at home
and now love,
you know what’s true
If you look at him
and think
to yourself
He’s not what
they see
Look a little
closer girl
the truth in him
will tease
And if he’s truly
for you
know beyond
a doubt
and if he isn’t
girlfriend
best you get
the fuck out
© Kait King, 2015

I so wish
I could have
been a better mum
But he still loves me
anyway
I see the photo
next to me
Colors blue and grey
you and I
Not much to spend
but time
and he still loves me
anyway
I feel I may have
failed you in
too many ways
to count
In spite of that
you are a beautiful
soul
and you still love me,
anyway
Kait King 16/7/2018
If you can allow yourself
to love me baby
I’ll hold you, rock you,
Love you through every night
If you’re not scared to
show me baby
I’ll do my very best to make it
all right
But I feel you haven’t
let go baby
And it’s not really all
about me
You have to let your feelings
show baby
You have to love me or let me
be free
© Kait King, 2015

Life suspended in a web-like hammock
the coffee smell not as nostril-curling as in the past
a homeless man stumbles along wet walks
dragging his sorry arse along the splinter lit street
a reflection of a sad life in a hard city,
his city, a place where he lost his wife and his job,
a home, his family
where he nearly took his own
when things were darker than ebony
and he had to walk his walk alone
A bunch of aggro school kids
too brash and way too loud
disrespect his foul figure on the skids
he had no room to be proud
He seeks a place that’s dry
it won’t be warm,
he knows a place where he can cry
and his aching tears won’t show
© Kait King, 2015

Yes love,
that’s exactly
what you do
Dust yourself off
once you’ve
pulled yourself up
and sing
dance
stand tall
Honey if you
think about it
it’s not the first time
and be sure
it will not be the last
You know the rights
from the wrongs
Don’t ever let them change
your song
With a Nelson Mandelian
grace
and a dignity dug
from the deep
You will triumph
and in a cloud of
dust, like a rolling
Pig Pen
You flagrantly walk
your walk into
another opportunity
© Kait King, 2016

So this is it
I mean nothing to you
I no longer exist in your world
There is no contact number for me
In your cellphone
anymore…
Kait King © 2015

When I write
every word is like
a finely crafted feather
particles of a winged voice
To uplift imagination
poor soothe upon torment
A flight path
mind’s destination to dream
picture perfect characters
who they are
where they belong
where you fit in
Nestled tight
keep out cold
turn against the winds of ice
water falling crashing calling
the feather nestled tight
let your imagination take flight
with these words I write
© Kait King, 2015

Lash me to you
bind me
with your love
string me along with
the world’s largest ball of twine
that’s fine
Wrap me in your arms
swaddle me in your dreams
Take me further than
the ends of our Earth
As far as that may seem
© Kait King, 2015

If you are able to correct something
that is harmfully wrong ~
Then it must be done.
© Kait King, 2015

Tripping
spilling
falling
dropping
words come tumbling out
Hedonistic
realistic
possibly artistic
like chocolate for my mind
are the words from my soul
replete
resplendent
and resonate
to make me feel whole
© Kait King, 2017
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.

The grass squeaks
beneath my feets
Cold steals well into
my bones
Chilly cows in
frosty fields
complain in
mooing moans
The sun is
shining watery bright
glistening drips from
my watery nose
In the shade
of the rock garden
lies a frosty
useless hose
The dogs’ little
paws
hardly leave
a mark
It’s beautiful but
not my favourite time
I have Summer
in my heart
© Kait King, 2016

She married him
when she was 23
and he was 37
She thought she’d met
Prince Charming
and he thought he’d gone
to Heaven
It didn’t take long tho’
for him to change
his song
And feel like he
was imprisoned
It happened so fast,
turned life on its arse –
she fell undeniably
and beautifully pregnant
She had her baby alone
while he drank and whored
in their home
No, it hadn’t been long
he was just bored
and it was just wrong
He had already been here
twice in his life
He had other children
and more than one wife
So with dignity
and as a lady
she took nothing
with her
just her baby
She didn’t want half
of the furniture
or a share of
the bling
She knew
she had kept
the most important thing
© Kait King, 2015