the d.

define emotions.

why? is that gonna make them go away? or make them better?

i think the fuck Not.

kpm ©



once upon another time:

my kids got used as bait. bait to manipulate me into being something that i wasn’t. something i didn’t want to be.

they’d be dangled like a worms on a fish hook. ‘do as we say’. bend as we will you too.

considering my first baby was born when i was 16 & im 47 now, that’s a mighty fucken long time to be carrying around a grungy burden that again, wasnt mine to bare.

but bare it i motherfucking did.

& now i find myself trying to make up for my perceived mistakes. mistakes that weren’t actual mistakes. choices that were coerced & manipulated. bent.

& i wonder if that sick feeling, for having hurt them or fucked up some how, is not actually mine to bare. at. all.

that just by the act of being one hundy percent me, i in fact give that burden, that manipulation & coercion the big fat motherfucking middle finger.

because in essence, i am being what i was taught i should not be. should not say. should not do.

so i am technically fucking the heavens & earth & everything that lays in between.

fuck yous. fuck your heaven. your hell. your god. your jesus. your religion. your thoughts. your beliefs.

none of them are mine.


kpm ©


hey …

yes, im delving into the depresso espresso.

yippie fuckers …

kpm ©



to make peace with that part of me that doesn’t trust me or anyone else. who can’t / won’t love anything.

that’s apparently ‘the goal’.

but that doesn’t sound logical to me. not at all.

kpm ©



shoulders way tighter than i realised.

in the morning. they tighten with any noise.

they’re deducing the tone and the mood.

& then my stomach starts turning from there.

but, still and quiet doesn’t feel safe either.

in that, im negotiating myself out of that space.

that silence, that may cost me my life today.

that day.

kpm ©



i dont trust me.

kpm ©



my body feels like screaming. not my mouth. my body.

my soul feels like running. not my body. my soul.

kpm ©


skin deep.

once upon a time i was told i was ugly.

not verbally.

but somehow it became a narrative i lived out.

the actuality was something quite different.

most people within my little life said i was quite beautiful.

but there was a kinda oozing puss that dripped over that statement slash ‘compliment’.

im not sure if thats what i ‘heard’ as being the ugly part.

but it is the part that i internalised.

as they said with their mouths ‘you’re beautiful’, they showed with their mannerisms & deeds, that i was worthless piece of shit.

kpm ©



i dont want your advice. i never asked for it.

i dont want your opinion. i never asked for it.

but you’ve given both like i asked, needed, wanted, required, them.

guess what.

i’ve had enough of them already & i’m way over it.

like, waaaaaaay over it.

that’s all.

kpm ©


i wonder.

if i change narrative, will that change the facts?

or just the ending?

kpm ©



black dont crack & brown dont breakdown.

you’re welcome.

kpm ©


sooo …

fact: my mind cant protect my body, and my body cant protect my mind anymore.


btw the psychologist gig is going well so far … shieeet.

kpm ©


not sure:

how i managed to raise such beautiful kids.

but i did.

kpm ©



me: im fatter.

them: you’re still beautiful.

me: i never said i wasnt beautiful.

kpm ©


? / wtf ?

a monk can do the cone of silence for 90 odd days & theyre a fucking saint.

i don’t want to talk to anyone for 24 hours+ & apparently i have mental health issues.

what the actual fuck is up with that?

kpm ©



can you control joy.

kpm ©



can you outrun anger.

kpm ©



‘it’ feels like a struggle for control.

i have never ever benefitted from someone else or something else, being in control of me. how do i navigate in between what i need & what i want & relinquishing control of my ‘self’.

should it be a trade off, or should i be able to retain exactly who i am, all the time.

kpm ©



dance, was, the only thing in my life, that was mine. no-one else could do it, interfere with it, control it, or dictate it. it was my expression. my release.

& i didn’t have to speak.

i need that back.

kpm ©



just let the fucker be.

kpm ©