
That’s a bad combination
A Lover who’s a Man
It doesn’t matter,
you see
’cause he’ll take it
if it’s free
Yeah…that’s a
bad combination
a Lover
who’s a Man
© Kait King, 2015

That’s a bad combination
A Lover who’s a Man
It doesn’t matter,
you see
’cause he’ll take it
if it’s free
Yeah…that’s a
bad combination
a Lover
who’s a Man
© Kait King, 2015
My eyes feel
like I’ve rolled them in salt
My brain
just won’t let me sleep
I go through the stories
in my head –
blaming myself and
at fault
No one else
sees me like that
although they often find
the broken me
I’m not that hard
to interpret
My body stops me
being free
and my brain won’t
even let it
© Kait King, 2015

Sometimes I
feel like
my Soul is
desperately
trying to
escape…
Tap
Tap
Tapping
at the top
of my skull
“There’s
somewhere
else I’m
supposed to
be
Let me
out!
Set
me
free!”
© Kait King, 2018
02/04/2018
Understanding the Predator – Desire
Previously I discussed the behavior of the pedophile. Now I’d like to address the desire that spurns the predator into scarring our children.
Take, for example, the standard human relationship of a male and a female, or homosexual relationships as well, the straight adult male seeks a woman with say, an hourglass figure, long hair, big boobs, and maybe a small butt. Or what about a homosexual male relationship? He may, for example, be looking for someone who is tall, bulky and muscular or perhaps for someone who has an athletic build. Regardless of their sexuality, the desire to be with someone is created normally, from attraction to the adult physique – the physical is what attracts us all initially in the realm of adult relationships.
The first thing we are attracted to is what we see. That has been the norm since forever. As a woman I desire certain physical male attributes – I want a hairy chest and armpits, I like my man to be strong – have strong arms and chest, I like it that he pads around my house like a big cat – these are desirable physical attributes to me, as a straight female. We are talking purely physical attraction/desire so please keep this in mind. Straight men will have other triggers, which I’m sure we are all familiar with, like when she bends over, the way she flicks her hair back, her boobs when they squish together when she bends over, when she bends over…you know the drill! 😉
Anyway, let us assess what a paedophile must see as desirable in a child. Babies, toddlers, preschoolers, primary school kids,pre-teens – the majority of these age groups do not have a shapely figure and no breasts, no butt, no adult conversation. So is the pedophile attracted to those little cute, pudgy bodies, plump little cheeks and wispy head of hair etc? Physical attraction is what first triggers that desire, right?
What about those individuals who claim it is about control. Is it really about being socially awkward and being unable to talk to a grown woman/man? Is it then that every paedophile suffers with Asperger’s or Autism of some kind? Why don’t other socially awkward people become pedophiles then? I think it’s because it is not about control but about attraction – same principal as in the first part of Phase 1 – you cannot counsel, medicate, talk or religion me out of my sexuality – it is innate and this is why a paedophile cannot be rehabilitated.
All they will learn to do is hide their sexuality better, they will learn to be better skilled at obtaining silence from their victim/s, they will become better at saying what the professionals need to hear to let them back out into our communities. It’s a fault, it’s not fixable, you cannot rehabilitate away an individual’s sexual preference. It is that simple. The 35c solution is that simple. Parents and families who have lost kids to pedophiles, both spiritually and in life, also know it’s that simple.
Is what we have been doing so far working for us? Are our kids safe?
Verse
When
you come around
with summer
sunshine in your eyes
With the
sweetest touches
kisses
there can be no
disguise
You’re in love with me
Don’t you
see the way
I like to be
so close and in I
wanna feel
the passion baby
burning on my skin
I’m in love with you
Chorus
No better time to find the one
That you can love
No better time to thank
The powers up above
No better ways to pass the days
Than fall in love
No sweeter sounds than the sounds of
Making love
Verse
You’re just
so perfect baby
It’s your gentle
loving smile
I want to have you
near me lover
Stay with me
a while
I’m in love with you
I see the way
you watch me
When you think that
I don’t know
I see it in your face
and eyes
If you think
that it don’t show
You’re in love with me
Chorus
© Kait King, 2015

Attempt #1
I was two weeks off my 13th birthday – so yeah, I was 12 years old when this happened to me. We lived in South Africa at the time when I was raped, by a 27 year old American man that I sort of knew. That was the first time I thought about killing myself.
I was still thoughtful although quite serious about ending the agony and shame. I couldn’t look at my Mum and Dad the same way – something had changed in me and I wasn’t their lovely little girl anymore. I was damaged, tarnished, broken, tainted – I was dirty and undeserving. I couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened and how little control I had had over anything that happened to me.
I couldn’t live with that uncertainty at that age. I didn’t want to live a fearful, doubting life! I had been, and should have still been, a carefree, happy twelve year old who loved horses. Now I held secrets, anger, fear and hate. My horse was my savior. I would cry into his mane all the time, feeling so hopeless. We would go for rides for ages or I would just lie on him, or with him, while he grazed in his paddock. He was the only one who knew what happened. And it ate me up.
That was the first time I contemplated suicide. I will tell you how I tried sometime, but that’s another story.
A Survivor
I watch you grow in
the sunshine of my love
with raindrops of pure joy
you fall around me
endlessly
In the deepest, darkest shadows
You shine your brightest light
every day
every night
My baby boy
you turn my life around
Baby boy
you turn my life upside down
As the seconds with you turn into years
your fearless journey with
true innocence moves away
suddenly you’re a schoolboy
with a schoolbag
who won’t hold my hand anyway
My baby boy
you turn my life around
Beautiful boy
you turn life upside down
Strong enough to climb
the tallest tree
your big brown eyes smile down
your laughter falling like autumn
leaves
fall to cover me
© Kait King, 2015
Time
Does not heal
All wounds
Time
Spent with things
Left unsaid
Leaves gaping
Endless wounds
Maybe you can
forgive yourself
before
You’re quietly dead.
Kait King ♡ April 2018
Does it matter
what color I am,
Does it matter, what color?
When I feel
just the same?
Does it matter
what faith I follow
Does it really matter, my faith?
When I can be
both deep and shallow?
Does it matter
if I’m alive or dead?
Does it matter
who it really is
When we all bleed
red?
Kait King 2018
Left of this curve
way in the past
where we made love
that wouldn’t last
I knew then
with that pain in my heart
And I know now
right at the start
© Kait King, 2015

It’s never easy talking about things that make us look weak in others’ eyes. Like suicide, like depression – we know it is seen as ‘ not coping’ so we say nothing. Saying nothing means nothing can change. The same negative thoughts, the same repetitive hate talk, the same triggers to feeling overwhelmed don’t go away…
But it’s never OK to talk about feeling like you want to kill yourself. Nobody seems to know what to do if you have ever mentioned it to anyone, or they cry and panic and call people you just didn’t want involved. Sometimes we mention it several times before actually committing or getting to a point of actual commitment to the act. If a blade is going to be used, there are often preparation cuts – which can put the person off using that type of method – as it kind of hurts! But if you want to kill yourself, you will find a way.
There is that old saying about someone attempting suicide is really a call for help. I think in many cases this is true. There seems to be no other answer to end the angst and pain. That feeling like you don’t belong and want out, combined with all the spiritual stuff out there that indicates we get more than one chance at life – we’ll just get to come around again. If you believe in God and heaven or Jesus – you believe in your salvation, you believe you will stand with Jesus on the other side. And if you believe that when you’re dead, you’re dead – well Hell, at least the pain, confusion and suffering will have ended.
The idea of death is the idea that it will be the end of the suffering – forever, like switching off a light. Or is it perhaps turning one on? For us? To shine a light on something we have forever kept in the dark. It keeps happening, numbers keep increasing, children younger and younger are opting out of life – Why? Our kids seem to be more violent, suffering more and lacking resilience.
Do they think they are in a game and have more lives? The Game of Life? Pass Go and do not collect $200…
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
Sleep deep
Sleep light
Lucky you
if you
sleep tight
Sleep long
Deep sleep
Eyes closed
yet you
still weep
Eyes open
Brain awake
Each breath breathed
a life
at stake
Eyes closed
Brain aches
It seems
like an hour
each second takes
Tweaked bedclothes
Twisting dreams
When are you awake?
Never, it seems
© Kait King, 2015
The crackling laughter
in a clunking room
with a crashing band
on their début
Toppling patrons
a snarling fight
scantily dressed ladies
goose-bump in the night
Security stands
dark at the door
free thinking radicals
spiral on the dance floor
Falling about
in a giggly drove
Time is up –
time to hit the road
A taxi is called
some resist and complain
they take their car keys
never to be seen again
© Kait King, 2015
Pre-Occupancy
So nobody’s home
Just cardboard cut-outs
posed in my brain
Memories I can’t let go
Pre-Occupancy
A way to survive
Somehow to numb
the pain
Somehow to stay
the child
Pre-Occupancy
Merely a distraction
Something to hide
any connection
Anything to avoid
taking action
Pre-Occupancy
© Kait King, 2017
Filling in spaces
in the game
of my Life
The map of my body
a giver of Life
Changing my places
the marker beyond
And the trouble
with you dear,
is you don’t belong
© Kait King, 2015

Your’e fading
on me again,
Quietly moving
away
Distancing yourself
So that you think
I won’t notice…
The bed is
our friendly
enemy
Saving us
from ourselves
and each other
It’s a waiting
game as
your brain seasons
change
And you will
be back if
you go
And we go
through
This
… again
Kait King 25/01/2020
I know
what’s happening
to me
He’s found
his way
in
making me think
in love story
lines
making butterflies
deep inside
me
and a sickness
I cannot recover
from
© Kait King, 2015
A copy of a letter I sent to all of the primary schools to save children – simple and super effective! Please pass it on
My son is 32 years old now and it has always amazed me at how many parents through those many years, and even now, who have no idea about the concept of the Secret Password.
I used to work as a National Intelligence Support Officer for the police. I have had projects that have highlighted the danger our children are in while getting to and from school and this is an issue which is not going to go away. I have a simple solution that may help to keep children safer than they are now. My son was five and starting school, and with my background and experience I was very aware of the dangers of kerb crawlers and people who would snatch kids from off the street. So I devised this password plan, my son picked the word – at the time he believed he was allergic to zucchinis’ as he detested them so much so that became our Secret Password. This password meant that if I was unable to pick him up from school and had to send someone whom he was not familiar with, or a stranger altogether even, if they knew that Secret Password it was ok to get in the car and go with them. If the person did not know the Secret Password my son was to drop his school backpack and run like the devil was after him, (which would be the case), straight back into the school grounds and to the principal’s office. He only had to use this once, and because he did run, he is still here and I am not writing this letter to you out of a sad and broken story where the solution is all but too late. But I write this out of a realisation that something so very simple could help to protect children, our children, for they are all of our children and we all need to be responsible for helping to keep them safe. I hope you find some benefit in this little gem and hand it out to all parents and caregivers and tell all that you can please, so that this safety net is in place. I thank you for your time to read this and thank you also, for teaching our children and caring for them.
With the most sincerest intent and with regards
Kait King, BA Crim.
© Kait King, 2015
Presumed guilty
before proven innocent
the unwilling participant
Assume the best
and prepare for the worst
Expectation costs nothing
but disappointment hurts
© Kait King, 2015
She’s beating the
crap out of me
I want to be
retaliatory
But I can’t find a gap
to even try
and hit back
She kicks me in
my side
Everyone there wants to see
me cry
I can hear their
jeering calls
of magnified echoes
charging through halls
This strange metamorphosis
in sound
is my ticket off
the gravelly ground
And I can see myself
lying there
The group of bystanders
shout and cheer
My body, I see
crumpled like
a sack
And I never even got a chance
to throw a punch back
© Kait King, 2015
Jealousy
Please leave me
Let me walk free
from your grasp
Honesty
Please fill me
Set my words free
with that trust
Stupidity
Please abandon me
Let me hear twice but speak
with one voice
Integrity
Please empower me
Take over my mind and body
to make the right choice
©Kait King 2017
My laugh is empty –
it’s lost it’s guts
I feel myself falling
into one of those ruts
That long
dark hole
I think I’ll never come back from
That “odd-one-out” feeling
that I really don’t belong
© Kait King, 2016
Did they say they didn’t
want to know you?
Could you pick your father out
in a crowd?
Did your mama love
and leave you
And you were left crying
out loud?
I wont’ listen to your
estranged olden day voices
when men were men
and women had no choices
Were you just a sad
disappointment?
Did they help when you
were down?
And what about now that
they are not here
Did you say the Love word
while they were still around?
© Kait King, 2015
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
I’ve been loved
by someone
When I wanted
to be free
And I’ve loved someone
desperately
When clearly
they didn’t
love me
I couldn’t find
a balance
I felt all men
would just hurt me
I made a choice
very purposefully
And I withdrew
from family, friends, and society
Alone
I finally could see clearly
the common denominator
in my failed relationships
was me
© Kait King, 2016
The wind makes my little cottage shudder and shake, the rain pelts relentlessly on the roof. I can hear the rumblings of thunder as things thrash around on the outside. The palms’ fronds that had died during the summer have now been flung down to earth ungraciously by the howling wind. Not a bird in sight of course, they are smarter than us. I don’t know whether to be slightly afraid or think “fuck it” what can happen? But suddenly I feel like Dorothy. Even though I’ve turned up my TV, the rain is really loud and I can hear the wind still, and the thunder…It sounds like a train coming. I remember someone telling me that earthquakes sound like a train or huge truck bearing down on you. I wondered if the rain was actually hail – it sounded so hard but it just didn’t seem cold enough. I’m snuggling down – battening down those hatches. I think about the poor cows taking a battering in the storm. Nature is so harsh – we have summer and everybody’s happy and then Wham! So this is winter – we will blow the crap outta you, sting your bovine crowd and make things generally miserable.
Oh Hello Winter!!…. mother-fucker….mumble grumble…

I don’t want to be known
just by an icon on your phone
I want to be recognized
by the color of my eyes
the curve of my smile
Things you’d know when
you’ve known me a while
© Kait King, 2016
Listen to the episode of my podcast: Foot in Mouth Disease https://anchor.fm/kait-king/episodes/Foot-in-Mouth-Disease-e15l4ln
If I lay in your arms
on your chest
near your heart
I can feel the pulse
of your veins
the beating of chambers
the haunting hush of air in lungs
If I lay in your arms
my head on your shoulder
near your mouth
I can feel the warmth
of your breath
see the curve of your lips
I want to crush with my own
If I lay in your arms
my body rested against you
touching skin
I can sense the need in you
the desire in me
the smelting ore of us both
even in rest
If I lay in your arms
© Kait King, 2015
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
A Wild Wind blows amiss
the plants and trees –
not a gentle kiss
Like a Louis
the Fourteenth dance
All the stately
tree branches prance,
Individual as the players
of many orchestrated layers
They fling themselves
around
Ancient roots hold tightly
in the ground
as the Wildest Wind
does its very best
to keep the tree branches
from any rest
© Kait King, 2016
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 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 the hope of a Utopia? Please say it isn’t so….
© Kait King, 2015
Touching many
or touching none,
the joy it brings
just touching one –
with a torrent of words
cleverly writ,
from the coolest phrases
in ancient Sanskrit
or perhaps a scribe in
a guttural foreign word
is the sweetest thing
anybody ever heard
And the English language
with it’s redonkulous rules
where no matter how good you are
it still makes you a fool…
sometimes
© Kait King, 2016
She’s listing
dangerously –
hair unwashed
no make-up on,
even the Captain
abandoned her
uninteresting,
over-weight and
needy
Stuck in the
iceberg
solid
icy
cold
unwanted connection –
The dark will soon
be upon the wreck
alone
lonely
lost
In the dark
© Kait King, 2016
The words that fall
off your fingers
as you tip tap text
to me
are untrue, hurtful
and dangerous
You’re acting like
a bully
I don’t want to do that
but you threaten
me with this
You lied and said
I fucked him
when it was just a kiss
Why are you so
mean to me
What makes it ok
that you and
your so-called friends
hang me
and then
watch me sway
I couldn’t find anyone
I felt I could talk to
See everyone thought
it was true
But now I’m not here
any more –
I hope that’s better
for you…
© Kait King, 2015
Slightly
gently
tumble on
down
fall into
my arms
you’ll not
be undone
Kait King 2015

Say what?
Edgy, I get
but perhaps it’s time
to give a name to this
retro-mismatched
misunderstood era
of a better time
clung to with the echo’s
of laughing kids on bicycles
a dog barks and sprinklers spit
on the thirsty, but well-kept lawn –
you know the drill
Now we watch TV programs of that
magical but oh so dangerous era –
as never before or after the 70’s
has there been a true A-typical
serial killer – at least that we know of
Corruption and destruction
non-existent moon-landings
And milk that lasted outside for weeks
We thought we were moving forward
But there were glass-ceilings and
“no choice” let alone the freedom of speech
The Vietnam war left more bodies
falling over time, or walking like the dead –
than the count of the actual battle
Hate was not something of the past
activists and advocates battled for what’s right
and still there are the odd crosses found
burning in the night
© Kait King, 2015
They’ve called it
Crack because
when you use it
you turn into an
Arsehole – as in
Butt Crack….
Kait King ❤ May 2018