When it’s time – it’s time

When it's time it's time

I’m not looking for somebody else

I just want to see you

I completed your lie detector test

and everything I say is true

There is no rhyme or reason

to why we feel this way

but this won’t be successful

with all the games you play

I really want to believe you

but I think I’ve been a fool

I just want to keep silent –

with you

I’ll lose my cool

So I cry quietly

in my pillow in the night

Knowing things are ending

Knowing things aren’t right

Knowing that no matter what

you don’t love me the same

I’ll be the one at night

alone, I’ll cry your name

© Kait King, 2015

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Crazy Horse

Crazy horse

A young man stood in front of me. Slightly overweight with a bad crew cut. His left arm was heavily bandaged. He held it out to me like an offering – a kind gesture.

“What happened to you?” I asked. He dipped his head shyly and poked a toe at the grubby, coffee-stained carpet.

“It’s a long story.” He mumbled, “I was in love with a girl. I loved her for a really long time.”

His eyes flashed up briefly to catch mine. Glancing up to the right and back to the floor he continued.

“We always walked to school together – I was, I guess, obsessed with her.” I could see another flicker in his eyes, but of hesitation or clutching at a memory. “I bought her flowers and chocolates, wrote her cards and love letters. For a long time…” he trailed off.

“How long?”

“I dunno…” He scrunched his face up as if he was in pain, then breathed out, “Six years, three months, one week and four days.” And obviously still counting, alarmingly!

“That’s a long time to love someone.” I said.

It’s a long time to love someone if they don’t love you back.” He said, looking directly at me – scrutinizing my reaction.

“So why did you keep writing and giving to her?”

I thought she would love me if I could show her how much I loved her. I thought I could have her. She would be mine – but she left. She came up here, to the big smoke. She got a job, and apartment, new friends – a whole life of her own. What she didn’t realise was that she was my life. So I came to live here too. Then I followed her from her work one day. Just pretended I was in the area and had bumped into her, random like. That was not a very good thing to do – she got really mad and told me to leave…to leave her alone.” He stopped, rubbed his good arm across his eyes and sighed.

“That’s when I got this really cool idea!” His face lit up with his remembered ingenuity. “See, I read in a book somewhere that Van Gough had cut his ear off and sent it to the love of his life. So I thought to myself that I would prove how much I loved her – I would send her my arm. That’s bigger than an ear – it must mean more! So the next day I go to work and do my job. When I thought everyone had gone home, I turned my skill-saw back on and tried to cut my arm off.” He swallows a gulp of air and grins at me crazily.

“Geez, didn’t that hurt?” I ask.

“That’s why I stopped!” he laughs. “I pushed my arm onto the saw and it sliced quickly -which was my intention. Blood pissed everywhere – it quickly got through the bones before I had a chance to pull back and well….it was just kind of hanging off and that’s when I thought to myself; Shit, what the hell am I doing – this hurts! What a mess too. I would’ve died too , I suppose, if the other guy hadn’t heard me screaming before I passed out.”

© Kait King, 2015

I buried you, I hope you don’t mind

I buried you

What do you mean?

You don’t get it?

I’ve talked the hind leg

off a donkey

telling you why it is

what it is

and no

I don’t regret it

How can you say that?

How would you know?

I get pissed that I’m not good enough

I won’t put my assets on show

I watch you watching yourself

under the radar

so low

Hiding who you really are

and now I wish I didn’t know

When did you do that?

Is it like, someone I know?

There is no name, no face

No one to show

And I need a body to bury

So I can let you go

© Kait King, 2015

The doyley of pain

Doyley of pain

So I’m asked to describe how I concentrate to write or focus on anything when pain is such a major contributor in my life and a permanent. I thought about it for a second. The doctor had used the whiteboard and drawn “my brain” with pain in the background and words like focus, concentration, motivation scribbled at the front with arrows looking like they were trying to get into my brain. Understandably these things all present a challenge but the way I see it, is that the pain is like an intricate piece of lace that is draped across my brain. In between the detailed lacy gaps things like concentration, motivation and focus do filter through. And depending on how tight the stitching is sometimes it is easier for those things to flow through and other times not so much. This might make sense to some of you – I’m not sure.

Also I’m not big on the word hope. I don’t want hope – I want it sorted now or I will just live with it until some such miracle cure arrives – but I’m not spending my life or any time at all with the hope that I will be fine again. It is what it is. They say hope is a word used for people who don’t want to accept. That is not who I want to be – I know a part of me longs for my body to be pain free but that is just not how it is.

I believe that determination comes from my soul and I will carve my way through whatever it is the universe chooses to share with me and be grateful at the same time – because even though I can’t walk very far, I can write – just a different double u (w)…. 🙂

© Kait King, 2015

Equal but Different – Let’s Celebrate!

Equality lets celebrate

I believe we are stumbling blindly into an inferno of uncontrolled hedonistic violence and sex. There is no argument that sex and violence are two of the most basic instincts in a human, particularly a male as he is the protector and the pro-creator; or that these two basic reptilian responses have been a part of human nature since the beginning of time.

What I find concerning is the lack of the repulsion response to violence or unnatural/violent sex. Research indicates that women, or young girls, are not only joining gangs and becoming more violent in their everyday life, but also are committing suicide in more violent ways. If we look back in time, women are the carers, the nurturers, the collectors and gatherers. Women were seen as mysterious as they bled and didn’t die and could give birth to another human being. An amazing, necessary and painful responsibility, but one that sets us apart as women and the carers of the next generation. I think we have lost track of that view. Is it because of Women’s Liberation? I don’t think it is because of that, but perhaps a catalyst after so many years of denial and oppression for women that they just went crazy and like most things they snowball into something unmanageable or inexplicable. Women needed to create their own freedom, this was a necessary journey but now we need another hero to pull us back to reality, balance and a normality.

So back to the violence factor. Women used to gas themselves or take pills to commit suicide. Men were the ones who used guns and ropes to do the same. Back in the 1970’s more and more suicides committed by women were found to be with razors, they would slit their wrists. Then they started shooting themselves and hanging too. Women were deemed to see suicide as a way of going to sleep and to look as “peaceful” as possible. They didn’t want their faces blown apart or a mess everywhere – that typical female response seems to be fading as we move forward, women seem to want to be seen as violent, angry, retaliatory and don’t fuck with me individuals. As tough as a man, as strong as, capable as etc. And there is no reason we can’t be. We are all on different levels of ability – what we shouldn’t be doing is denying that ability. We should celebrate our individuality, our gender responsibilities, our strong points – no matter what. But it doesn’t mean we aren’t equal in the ability to be human – we just have different EQUAL roles in the responsibility of the Universe, our lives, our people, children, plants and animals – all Earthlings have a reason to be here. All Earthlings have a role in the world, some of us know this role and others of us struggle to find our purpose. But what our purpose is not, is to degrade, belittle or detract others from their journey.

I’ve watched Jack Ass and I wonder what influence that may have had on today’s young kids. When we were growing up, if we saw someone (young or old) fall over or hurt themselves or if they failed at something like a driver’s licence or baking a cake – we didn’t laugh and point at them and shout “Loser”. We sat down with them, put an arm around their shoulders and told them that they would be all right and be able to do this again. We would help them, pick them up, dust them off and push them forward again, not nail spikes of spite into their very soul to keep them pinned to the lowest low.

So I wonder what has happened to us all. I look rather sadly around me when I see more and more women with guns standing next to a Giraffe, Elephant or Lion they “hunted” with an AK47 and I’m ashamed. Children and babies burnt, tortured,starved, ignored and suffering, our elderly abused and forgotten to rot in unacceptable conditions, animals tortured and used for sick individual’s pleasure. But most disturbing of all is that it is a woman at the end of those appalling acts, more and more.

So I beg of us all as women to take back what is ours, our mystery, our caring, our nurturing and saving of the world. We are women, our power lies in our ability to calm, talk, bring peace, negotiate and love. Please help me bring our job-description back into the light, it’s who we are, it’s what we were made to do – I don’t want to fall into the hole of what everyone else is doing or hardening up for – if we do this we will crack and fall into a squidzillion pieces never to be a whole again. Am I living in hope of a Utopia? Please say it isn’t so….

© Kait King, 2015

Cheers World

cheers world

There’s a place I like to go

where everyone seems to know

who I am

I like this world

There’s this space I like to be

where everyone I see

is my best friend

in the world

And if I take you there

do you promise not to stare

cos it’s not done like that

in my world

When you walk in the door

and you say she’s just a whore

don’t put her down

it’s not your world

When you stand up at the bar

please don’t brag about your car

We don’t really care

this is our world

And when you do take her home at night

when she squeezes you back tight

Don’t leave her all alone

this is her world

© Kait King, 2015

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…

The 3 Little Piggies and other schizzle

thank you 1

Thanks to all of my followers, fans, friends and family 🙂 I really appreciate all of your follows, comments, advice and shares. I hope you enjoy my blog and my recent thriller killer novel on Amazon called The 3 Little Piggies (read for FREE on Kindle) and now 2 poetry books, Supine Exsanguinations and unseen poetry, My See-Through Mind also available on Amazon (please check out the Kait King on Amazon button on my site). I need reviews – the good, the bad and the ugly – please don’t be shy!:)

I’ve really enjoyed writing a blog and getting some of my stuff out there, actually it’s over 300 pieces of writing so maybe more than just some 🙂 Thank you for reading my blog, for commenting and letting me know how you feel and what you think – I love it and feel like I may have found a place in the blogosphere.

It really does get easier as I share more and realise those who read me, share these things with me as well. I have become comfortable with the WordPress tools and applications. I have been fortunate to have had only very minimal negative contact from anyone and that was a while ago, when I first started here. So again, thank you to all of you wonderful people who have made it easier for me to bare my soul! And also to all of you amazing people who are brave enough to put yourselves out there too!

Thank you – without you,
my life would be inkless

No Problem

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

What’s wrong with you

mary bell

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