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

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

When I got away from the place where I had been raped, I walked home. I had my horse with me but I couldn’t ride him. I just stumbled my way home through snot and tears. My horse kept nudging me as he had never seen me like this. I can’t explain fully what was going on inside. I think I was shocked, in disbelief. And surprised. I was so surprised at how casual and normal the man who had just raped me, had been. He apologized for ripping my clothes as he handed the remnants to me and asked me if I wanted a drink of water….I mean, an absolute fucking gentleman. Anyway – sorry, that bit of sarcasm was unavoidable – I left with my head down and a confused shame, embarrassment and doubt came over me. I doubted what had happened. I doubted what I believed. I doubted my actions and questioned whether I had offered myself for this man to take. But that was not true, I know this now that I’m older, stronger, wiser and not confused by my naivete anymore. At the time I had no compass, nothing like this had ever been in my world. Now I wasn’t safe anymore, that’s how I felt. My parents couldn’t do anything to change what had happened, neither could I, or any god or universal plane… I know it changed me forever.
I always wondered if I would’ve been a different person if I hadn’t been raped. How different my worldview may have been, my relationships with the men in my life. Those things ate me up at that confused time, but what killed my soul was that someone had taken something from me that I didn’t give. I played the situation over and over in my mind. It broke me. And then there were my loving parents whom I couldn’t look in the eye anymore. I felt dirty, guilty and ashamed. Those feelings began to become so intense and overwhelming they consumed me. And in a very short space of time, merely days.It seemed that everything and everyone else was rushing by and busy with life and I just seemed to keep repetitively falling and falling. Scrabbling at nothing on the sides and feeling totally worthless.
It’s going to get dark again, even if the sun is shining. I know what I’m in for. Staring into nowhere with a sense of hopelessness and despair that seems to have no end at the time. So you’re back, you’ve returned with your sticky, clingy sadness I must wear as a shawl. It’s a shawl made of all my wrong-doings, lost dreams, failed relationships, and a frightening anxiety about the future. It weighs a tonne, and I struggle to sit up in bed with it on, or get out of bed, or brush my teeth or my hair… you weigh me down, Depression.
I didn’t know I was feeling so bad until I was in the kitchen making myself a coffee… I had been thinking negatively, granted. And the cold of winter doesn’t make it easy either, so the future looks grim with the situation I’m in. This is the exact time the Shawl of Depression draped herself securely around me, so I had to drag myself sadly and tearfully back to my bed. I see the sky, the sun, the birds, the beauty – the beauty in everything but me and my life. Then I tell myself off for being so ungrateful and get angry at the things that stop me from being who I want to be. My anger covers the fear and anxiety. I would rather be angry than scared. It’s a long process to get to angry. It’s a long, unseen, unknown process that puts me there in the first place, though.
I lie facing the wall. I don’t want to look at beautiful things. My eyes are open, I’m not moving though – my breathing hasn’t changed, it’s still rhythmical, and the tears just seem to fall out of my eyes endlessly. No noise, no change, nothing – just a waterfall coming out of my face that seems like it won’t let up. I don’t understand the grief or the sadness. Perhaps it is the broken me saying goodbye to the real me but refusing to let me go… In a little bit, I will sit up and write about this. It’s crippling and yet I know I have to ride this out. I know I should take a good look at those feelings, but I’m just too angry at the moment…
Kait King 2017
Podcast #11

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
If he hits you
He will hit your kids
He will kick your pets
He will break your stuff
He will fuck your world…

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

There is no other way to write
the truth spills from the soul
an eager hand and frenzied mind
I scribble out my fill
The scratching on the paper
the lead shines the ink glows
what I will write next
I don’t even know
but the truth is how it is easy
to tell what must be said
and there is an urgency in this
as one day we are dead
My fingers ache at times
as I just can’t seem to stop this flow
of words into lines a cadence reached –a drop
The wonder in me wonders
I speak it loud and often think
If I keep on writing like this
Will there be enough ink?
© Kait King, 2015

A Leopard may not
be able to change
his spots but,
he can camouflage
himself to look like
the harmless jungle
Is the jungle really
harmless, I hear you ask?
Yes, but for the camouflaged
spots that lurk within
Kait King 2019
P.S Do not trust those in power!!


I can hear the cicadas
with their sliding
grinding legs
laughing kids
melting ice-creams
Clothes freshly dried
on a line
neatly pegged
That sun shine
warm tar
summer rain smell
That open-roofed car
chasing oceanic swells
Those exotic looking palms
lining Rodeo-type roads
giggling girls
in bikinis and curls
with their Summer Sunbodies
on show
© Kait King, 2015

Sometimes I wonder if you were
ever really here
Somehow I know what’s true
when you were always there
But as life returns back
to a more even keel
I can’t help this wonderment
this dreamlike existence I feel
You are gone yet you remain
and as the world lazily spins on the same
those 70’s and 80’s – a very different look
maybe just a new chapter in my new story book
As you are not really gone
I will sing your same old song
And I will die at my age and my son
will turn the next blank page
© Kait King, 2015

With a new non-smoker righteousness
you glare at all of me
I’m vulnerable, I’m open
Don’t you want to hold all of me?
Will you curse the shape of my body
or my heart
my spirit
my dream or
perhaps just all of me
Your love that I
need so desperately
makes you dislike me
immediately
I am but a child
I didn’t ask to be born
But please, can you not hug me,
feed me –
keep me warm?
© Kait King, 2015

I remember sitting on the edge of my parents double bed upstairs. I had a little pearl handled gun in my lap. I was sobbing my heart out. I truly felt worthless, unwanted, damaged and broken. I was sad that I would miss all of my family and hurt them but I didn’t want to pretend that I was happy to be having my 13th birthday – that I was a teenager, all grown up. I didn’t want to grow up. I wanted to stay the way I was from a week ago. And I knew I could never go back and it would never be put right or changed. It couldn’t be.
That pain of hopelessness that clung to me like an overly small wet-suit strangling the life out of me, that was overbearing and I was being crushed beneath it. I held the gun up to my head, sobbing. My finger wasn’t on the trigger just yet – I knew it was loaded. It always was – it weighed differently when it was empty. I held that gun in my mouth and I thought about how awful it would be for my Mum and Dad to find me like that – in their bedroom, on their bed or floor – depending on how I collapsed when the bullet plowed through my brain. I tried holding it in my mouth. The metal barrel rattled loudly against my teeth I was shaking so much. And the messy result would be the same. I changed my mind and decided to do something a little less messy and dramatic. I didn’t contemplate leaving a suicide note. I was ashamed that I had been raped, ashamed, embarrassed and feeling guilt, overwhelming guilt. I didn’t know what it was in my head or my heart, I just felt incredible guilt at what had happened to me. What would I say in my note other than I was sorry? That I loved them and it wasn’t their fault? Wow – I think about that now and wonder if I had actually pulled the trigger that day, knowing what I know now, how devastating that would be in itself – but to not have a note that could free them from the constant wonder and doubt…
Anyway my next plan was to climb in the bath with a whole lot of Panadol and a razor blade. Razor blades were easy to come by back then. My dad had one of those twist on and off razors and you slipped the double sided Wilkinson blade in very carefully as it is mighty sharp! So I ran the bath, I felt very determined that I wanted to be out of here. I felt I had no future to look forward to. I swallowed the 18 pills I found and carefully undressed and climbed into the bath. It felt like the right thing to do. I felt elated at the thought of freedom from this constant hurt. I dragged the blade at an angle across my left wrist. It started to bleed – it was like a deep paper cut – very thin. I drew another one next to it. Nothing hurt. I swapped hands and held the blade in a rather slippery left hand. The water was turning pink. I placed the blade at the beginning of my right wrist. My fingers were getting sliced as the blade slipped awkwardly but I managed to drag it vertically up my arm. I just lay back, waiting. I felt excited, as I say, at being able to escape all of this.
But my girlfriend from next door helped me to live. She found me. Poked her fingers down my throat and made me vomit up all of the pills in a chalky, semi formed mass with the milk she forced me to drink. I hate milk on its own to this day. She plastered and bandaged me up. I begged her not to tell anyone and she never has.
A Survivor
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

I have a notion
that your emotion
is not just a session
of dark depression
but a mark on your heart
like a bite from a shark
missing pieces never found
and this is why you’ve gone to ground
I can guess
you don’t see this as a test
but an evil calculation
to distract you from your destination
A calculated move
to jig you outta your groove
But the world is not against you
just try on the other shoe
it’s not that hard to do
and if you walk a decent mile
you might cry but you might smile
ain’t it worth it in the end
if you find you’re your best friend
So don’t knock yourself so hard
you’re not stupid or a retard
We are all given different gifts
And as we live our outlook shifts
from continental rifts
to continental drifts
we figure it’s not just about ourselves
that there are no Christmas elves
and that you need to really care
for everything
if you want to get along here
© Kait King, 2015

Life looks
pretty bleak
If you’re a resistant
control freak
Nothing ever goes
as it’s s’posed to
See it’s up to the Universe
if it chose to
Nothing lasts forever
You’ll never be that clever
To beat the hand of Fate
Before you choose
and it’s way too late
Nothing ever
stays the same
You shouldn’t be
afraid of change
If you dig your toes in
and won’t budge
Or if you stay angry,
hold a grudge
Life looks pretty bleak
If you’re a control freak
I would imagine
intense anxiety
when you can’t make things
as you want them to be
And an obsessive,
over-busy mind
That’s never easy
to unwind
So you find something else
to get it fixed
But now –
you look drugged…
Not happy,
in those pics
© Kait King, 2016

I want the truth
The truth about you
Not the bullshit
Covering your skin
But the real you
The real one within
I want to see you
To see you naked
Stripped of all worldly things
Nothing to hide behind
Show me you
Bare naked
Let me into your mind
Kait King 13th September 2018

With some leftover tea
I chuck some painkillers at me
A certain kind of guilt and
a definitive disgust wash over me
I fight every day
to keep a smile on my face
being strong, overcome
I have a new life to embrace
I know this is not what
I signed up for
I’ve paid the full price
for so much more
But I guess some you win
and some you lose
So I experience my life
in a different pair of shoes
But I’m still so sure
I was destined for so much more
so much more
I’ve already paid for
© Kait King, 2015

Would it not be reasonable to think that an individual who ‘requires’ a restraining order, is the type of individual who would break a restraining order?
Kait King 2017

It’s time for me to close my eyes
the sleep – she calls me in
tempting me with promises
of dreams from deep within
Happy to drown in fluid darkness
my lungs relaxed and full
spiralling soft, my body jumps
but still I feel the pull
And so I slumber deep and long
my dreams are all but lost
as I pull myself up from this sleep
to be chilled by morning’s frost
My bed, it lies like a crumpled body
it’s death, by noose, my sheets
I pull on my jeans, headphones on
and head into the streets
The bus stop frozen from icy glares
the wind a second best
We glide and jerk through glistening streets
I know I’m not a guest
My homework lies upon my lap
I want to turn around and go back home
Even my music has lost it’s colour
and bleeds into a drone
We fall out of the bus in an untidy crowd
the Subway reeks of cheese
I feel broken and somewhat heavy
Would they notice if I fell on my knees
My iPod turns into my lecturer
and continues in a monotonous tone
My brain has surpassed this walled in campus
I fall back into my cool dream zone
My liveliness is so inspired by friends of sweet love and sweet dreams
this shining light of laughing free
and left splitting at the seams
We say adiós and walk away
our paths cross again tomorrow
I find myself doubting myself
is this the path that I should follow?
I stand in the queue, the bus pulls up
we file in like a production line
stamped and paid and sit if you’re lucky
the sun’s shining and every thing’s fine
I walk briskly home, it’s getting dark
I walk in tune with a song
And wonder at ideologies like…
why can’t we all get along?
It’s warmer inside and my little friend
turns himself inside out to see me
I talk, I eat, I study hard just to go back
to be soft, warm and dreamy
© Kait King, 2015

When I was a kid I grew up in a place called Somerset West in South Africa. It was beautiful and I have amazing memories living there with all of the beautifully changing landscapes and incredible wildlife. I used to go to school with a chameleon or a tobacco roller snake curled up in my pocket. I lived, breathed and ate horses (I always hated that saying – I would die before I ate a horse)…maybe…anyway, I was a happy-go-lucky kid. My parents were wonderfully social butterflies, having many dinners and do’s that were amazing. I would sneak downstairs and take a look at all the beautiful people and listen to their laughter and tinkling cutlery. My mother would let me have dessert upstairs while I watched TV way later than what I was supposed to. I had the dogs and cat crowded up in the den and kept hoping that I would be forgotten and could stay here, just like this, always.
Well that didn’t happen and life trundled on – I must have been about 14 or 15 years old and had my first boyfriend. My parents were out one night and so my boyfriend Mike, and I were over at my friends’ house across the road. Before we left we made sure the dogs were not able to get into the lounge, a light on the front porch was left on for when we came back and everything was locked up.
So we had a fun night with our friends’ and decided it was time to head back – my parents would be home soon and Mike had to go home too. We walked hand in hand down the long dark driveway and headed across the road. My house was lit up like a birthday cake. Every light in the house was on. Mike and I stopped dead in our tracks with our mouths open. I went to hurry forward and Mike held me back. We approached with more caution. The front door was also open…and all of the windows. We were terrified but for some reason instead of going back to my friends’ house we kept going towards mine. Mike pushed the front door open and we slowly went in – I was hanging on to Mike for dear life! Everything was super bright with every single light turned on, the guest toilet lights, the reading lamps beside the beds and the main lights…what the hell was going on? What was really weird is that the dogs were bailed into a corner in the kitchen. Not even where their beds were but squashed under the breakfast table. Now we had a Great Dane (Cleo), a Labrador (Lottie) and a Bouvier des Flanders crossed with an English Sheepdog, (Charlie). These were not little dogs or scaredy-cat dogs for that matter, yet they were cowering and terrified of coming out when Mike and I went in. Usually they were delighted to see us and went crazy even if we had only been gone for twenty minutes. The cat, Fluffy-bum, was nowhere to be seen either.
Mike and I scoured the house and turned off the lights and closed the windows – man, we were creeped out. Mike had to go so I reluctantly saw him off and kept the dogs close. I made sure I locked the front door behind me and checked the downstairs windows with a trail of pets behind me. While I wandered around the house trying to feel safe, yet believing I may be locking something in with me rather than keeping something out.
Suddenly I could smell something burning. I poked my nose outside to find out if there was a bush fire somewhere but I could only smell the delicately cloying Wisteria and Jasmine that threaded the hedge. I hurriedly retraced my steps, the dogs got in the way of course and I stumbled over them several times in my hurry. I couldn’t find anything that was turned on now – I had turned it all off! I checked the power outlets all around and unplugged anything that wasn’t being used but nothing was melted or smelt as if it was burning. I checked the oven, the laundry where the iron was – nothing, not a heated thing. I went into the den and turned on the TV. Lottie, Cleo and Charlie followed me in and clambered onto the sofa with me. Fluffy-bum had turned up and wiggled her way in amongst all of the dogginess. I wondered when Mum and Dad would be home, I hoped soon…
Next to the sofa was an old cane rocking chair and foot stool that would now and again crack due to the change in temperature so that was nothing new. But y’know how cats suddenly stop doing what they are doing and just stare at something you know is not human and may be a ghost or something like that. But you don’t want to believe it when it’s in your own lounge. So Fluffy-bum is washing herself, and the dogs’ faces in between their fluttering lip snores and does this petrified statue thing, looking at the old cane rocking chair. It cracks and I think nothing of it. Something has changed, the snoring has stopped and all three dogs are awake, lying there with their eyes open but they had not picked up their heads. That was really strange – they leapt up at anything in a race to meet it, greet it or eat it.
The cane chair cracked some more and then became regular as the chair started tipping back and forth, rocking… I shot straight off the sofa – cat and dogs flying. Something had changed in me – I was fed up with this torturous unknowing. I stormed over to the lounge door – ripped it open and yelled over my shoulder, “GET OUT! YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE – GET OUT!” and carried on like a tornado to the front door – ripped that one open, after I fumbled around unlocking it and yelled the same thing behind me. I stopped in my tracks as I felt something move and shift in the atmosphere.
“I’m sorry…” I whispered, “I’m scared of you, I don’t know who you are but I don’t want you here. You need to go to the light, just go…” and I closed the front door. I walked back into the lounge, I felt shattered but hugely relieved. I looked towards the welcoming sofa where Lottie, Charlie, Cleo and Fluffy-bum sat waiting. They looked relaxed and content. I plonked myself down and Fluffy-bum came over, she looked up at me and closed her beautiful green eyes in a smile of thanks and curled up on my lap after a couple of raspy kisses on my hand. Somebody released some of their dogginess and we were almost back to normal. I heard Mum and Dad’s purring car and saw the headlights sweep over the windows in a comforting light – wondering if whomever I had chased out of our house felt as comforted as I did right now, I really hoped so.

I’m uncomfortably present
awkwardly, I’m here
Cleverly, you’ve trapped me
by playing on my fear
I don’t want to say yes
but something in me is sparked
and if I don’t say yes
I won’t have a heart
you’ll say to me
You’ll say to me
I don’t really love you
that I’m not really into it
and my love is not true
And yet that twist inside me
coils like a snake
ready to make me feel bad
making me ready to hate
myself
© Kait King, 2015

I think there are two kinds of people in the world;
Those who will take everything
and those who would give anything
© 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

When standing here
with you
I don’t know what to do
or who to be
A lost and broken
man
Holding out his
hands
I don’t know
where to turn
I was swept up by
you
Crushed and broken, too
now I don’t know who I am…
© Kait King, 2015

retaliation
is the
explanation
given as to why
our kids
are dying
and expiration
is the
destination
leaving your friends
and family
crying
Kait King 2017

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
I guess the question of why would be relative to one’s beliefs, perception and world view. If the answer to the question is different due to this, then there are different results with each answer. Some might believe the why was: because they deserved it or God wanted it that way or human suffering is pay back or whatever other beliefs people have about the reasons why they want out. Do they exist to be beaten, maligned and controlled? Do they exist just to suffer? To be targets for predators of Child Abuse, rape and murder? We know all of the good things… Sometimes they get covered up in the bad. I think more than anything, people who want to die, ask themselves, the Universe and all gods “why am I here? For what purpose must I hurt beyond my control? Beyond what I can bear…”
But I’m still here, still bearing when I thought I needed to escape the unbearable. Was I a fool to hang around waiting to die or should I take the quick option and kill myself? Was that cheating? Not knowing is what keeps me waiting. Does that mean that those who do take their lives have absolute faith? Absolute knowledge? Or are they just in absolute Hell? Are they absolutely past caring? Perhaps there is no right or wrong answer…or maybe no answer at all. Perhaps we just exist to exist. We live we die – rinse and repeat…

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

I think of you
and dreardom stops
I think of you
and there’s a color
I can’t name
© 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
© 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