Playing dressups

Playing Dressups

The night before, we had argued. We had argued because he had consumed two bottles of red wine and anything else that he could find the dredges of, which would be almost zilch because he always finished everything off. Anyway – I’m not a huge drinker and not during the week to the point where I wouldn’t be able to get up for work. This guy used to drive to work, still drunk, the next day. I often used to find him slumped over his steering wheel, car jacked up half on the curb and lawn or driveway and curb, the lights and radio still blaring. The drivers’ door askew and one leg hanging out. Like it’s the thought that counts…he thought he could get home, get inside the house…ridiculous. So this was why I was mad.

Anyway, as you do, I couldn’t sleep and lay in our bed wondering how the hell did I get here and how the hell I was going to extricate myself from it all. It must’ve been close to 4 am and I hear his car bumble into the driveway and something inside me wished he’d just stay in that car tonight, I was still pissed at the whole uncaring scenario. Alcoholics tend to not give a shit – like just about every other addict addicted to something more important than you.

I can hear him scrabbling around with his keys and I hear him talking nonsense to the cat and rummaging in the fridge. I make sure my back is turned as I just cannot face an argument with an illogical, loud, irrational drunk. He comes into our bedroom. I can hear him undressing and I lie quietly – trying to make my breathing sound even and as if I’m well asleep. He’s struggling to get his pants off and falls around the room, cursing and bumping into things and then collapses onto the bed, snoring.

I pluck feebly at the bed blankets he’s trapping underneath his comatose body. I lie there trying to figure out how I’m going to breathe for the next while, till I have to get up for work, as the room is turning into an alcoholic gas chamber. I only have to wonder about this for an hour and then I will have to get up to open the restaurant for breakfast. I can’t stand it so I get up. I decide to have shower to shake off the sleepless night. We have an en suite and I find my way there in the dark and turn the light on on the inside of the wall. A faint beam streams out, highlighting the bedroom as I turn to close the door behind me. In the moment the light poured itself briefly over my sleeping partner, I noticed something strange. All I could see were maybe two dark lines down his back – up to where the covers hid the rest of his body – from the sort of elbow area down. He’s lying on his stomach and is snoring facing the other way.

I gently open the door a little wider so that more light can try and identify what I am not sure I am seeing. I tentatively take a step back into the bedroom, squinting in the shadowy room. I keep going towards the bed and stand there looking at him. If you had been recording it, it would’ve looked like something out of those spooky paranormal movies. I was trying to figure out what he was wearing. I lean forward and carefully pull the sheets back to expose more of his body.

I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, scream or punch him. He was wearing a petticoat, with little string straps and a lacy trim. I was like, what the fuck!! I was in shock – I tell you, there is nothing like finding your man dressed up in women’s lingerie to wake you the fuck up out of your grumbling stupor of a morning.

His name just fell loudly out of my face and I was still clutching the tented bedclothes above him. His drunken scrunched up face dug itself deeper in the pillow and an arm came out to grab the blankets back.

“I like it! It’s nothing!” He slurred and promptly fell back into his drunken slumber. Well, I’m sorry, but I have nothing against anyone doing things that are consensual and don’t hurt anyone, but I do want to be the only one in the lingerie!

We spoke about it and he denied, denied, denied. It was crazy – I mean, I saw him! Needless to say as I like my men all man, I left and we have stayed friends. Interestingly enough his next girlfriend contacted me in a very distressed state to say that she thought he was cheating as she had found a suitcase of women’s lingerie, stockings and high heel shoes in the boot of his car when she had borrowed it one day. If only that were the case.

It was strange because after the initial shock and insulted type of feeling I had, I felt sorry for him…I realized that maybe he drank so heavily as he was trying to run away from who he needed to be. It may not be who you want to be, but it will be who you are…

Junkie Corner and Gangster Avenue

gangster ave

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

I’m no secret

Im no secret

I’m no secret

I’m loud and clear

I love you babe

put away your fear

I won’t leave

I won’t bow out

I promise I’m good for it

I’ll leave you no doubt

And all I ask in simple return

is the love from your heart

that I know I have earned

© Kait King, 2015

Something or Something Else but never Everything

something and something else never everything

I’ve often wondered why just about everything we discuss has to be blah blah blah OR blah blah blah… Why can’t it be both? Why is it not possible that these things are symbiotic? Co-morbid? Dual catalysts? I listen to people discuss the big question of how we got here. The options, in this conversation, may I be so polite, are:

  1. We are created by God
  2. We are from an alien planet and arrived on a rock from outer space
  3. Darwin’s Theory of Evolution.

Okay, so everybody’s got a point and nobody has the answer so there is some validity of possibility in each perspective. Especially if you consider the human to be made up of physical, mental and spiritual capacities and needs, which I do. And in this debate there is even more than two sides to contemplate. So each individual has solid, understandable reasons – well within reason, and are glued to the ground on what those reasons are and why. The discussion becomes what people like to call “heated”. I, totally unlike my robust debatable self, still did not get involved. I could hear the rising of offensiveness from each party as the others poo-poo’ed each others perspectives and theories. It wasn’t going to end well, nobody likes to be poo-poo’ed.

After the hoo-ha and everyone had left, my man and I plonked ourselves in front of the television, grateful for the calm noise and not the hysterical noise. Everyone would get over it but it was always the same with the topic of how we got here, not just with people I knew, but many will argue these points to the enth degree, with really, no real evidence to be honest.

So for me, I decided that being only human, I really knew sweet F.A and to tie it up nicely in my head, I just gather all of that info and think that maybe we were created by some super entity as a 3rd rock, as a planet within a universe. But that was all, then one of the stars in that universe, with life in it, crashed into this 3rd rock and was the prime delight to allow things to flourish and grow, and so it did. And things did evolve and become this amazing exotic world we are fortunate enough to live on now.

Why can’t everyone be right? They can be right somewhere in a time continuum of the human development and creation. They just all need to put their stories together. But like I say, nobody has the answers, and maybe we don’t even find out a bloody thing when we die and still know jack-shit (a good friend of mine)…

The other thing people tend to do this with is my favorite topic – serial killers. For some inane reason we have to ask whether it is nature OR nurture….it’s both for dog’s sake. If you could take a serial killer as a baby and nurture him in a certain way you will either bring out or highlight the best or the worst of that character. What I think we need to realize is that this is a possibility for every child as again, everybody has the capacity to kill, it just depends on how that is brought out in you. For some people, all that has to happen for them to pull out a gun and kill someone, is an insult outside of a bar. For others (myself included) I would have to be in a situation where my life or the life of someone was threatened and they were being hurt. Then I become the killer. We all sit somewhere on that continuum and depending on how we are treated is how we will react. But at the end of the day, intention, mens rea, is everything. So for me it is both, not one or the other in this instance too. I’ve been finding out in my life that things are not always black and white. Human beings are complex, emotional beings with such a variety of combinations of everything that it is impossible to label or put people in boxes. It just doesn’t work like that.

But I must stop rambling now – I have so much I could scribble about – but I will not bore you with my ranting and raving. I put my soapbox away…;) thanks for reading though, if you got through it!

If I could…

if i could

If I could cut out your

heart

This is how it would

feel

And the music will tell

you

How come it’s so

real

If I could cry with your

eyes

This is how it would

feel

And the words that I

sing

Is how come it’s so

real

© Kait King, 2015

For the Love of Rastus – R.I.P 20th May 2016

rastas

A bright orange glow

you sit in the hedgerow

thinking you are hidden

and will get to catch the forbidden

but little do you know

your gingerness does show

even though you’re so still sitting

your camouflage seems to be what’s missing

You see the birds and can contain the frolics

but I’m sorry Rastas –

You stand out like dog’s bollocks!

You must wonder how come you don’t catch a bird

they must look at you and think you’re absurd

You’ll never catch them in your bright orange coat

Or feel their silky feathers in the back of your throat

I’ve seen the odd field mouse stiff on the bricks

but I just know, that’s not how you want your kicks

A crispy crunchy sparrow or a larger tasty minor

or perhaps a tender inside bird, something a little finer…

© Kait King, 2015

Your Old Sweaty Shirt

sweaty tshirt

That’s the last thing you wore

that held your warm body close

It was the last thing before

your heart and pressure slowed

A cloth got to finally hold you

something I never got to do

People say that it was better that way

But I don’t know if that’s quite true

I hold your once sweaty t-shirt

drenched now with my own tears

and try to inhale what’s left of you

As it fades from all the years

© Kait King, 2015

The Hidden Object Blame

hidden object blame

Is there really a light

at the end of some tunnel?

Have I lost the map

Did I throw it away

dirty and crumpled?

Have I lost my way

taken a wrong turn

can’t see the light

from the candles burned?

Is it that I’m blind

even though I enjoy vision

For looking I can’t see

and so much

remains hidden

© Kait King, 2015

Attention all mind readers…

Att all mindreaders

There’s a part of me I don’t want people to see. Sometimes I think my battle with writing at times is because of exactly that. If I write what I want to – which I do, this must make people (strangers and those I know too), think of me in a certain way. That’s just the way the cookie crumbles, we all represent in some way or another – the way we decorate ourselves, our homes, our cars insides….But that is easy to see when we visit people’s homes or meet them and feel akin to them or get a ride in their super tidy or super messy car – we are able to make assessments.

But what about when you really know very little about a person and yet you are able to read their minds, well in a way, kind of. I write what is in and on my mind and you are reading it….mind reader 🙂

© Kait King, 2015

It’ll pass

It'll pass

Temporarily insane

playing your little game

partly furnished

inside my head

only not working

if I should be dead

Temporarily out of order

please excuse the mess

you’ve caught me on an off day

How can I be my best?

© Kait King, 2015