did i tell yah ..

i thanked my uterus today
.

that was long overdue.


kpm©


its aight ..

hear me :

by turning or weaponising any attempt at intimacy, as me being some dirty lil whore.

means you aint no different than everyone else. anyones whose attempted that. anyways.

although i feel strangely embarrassed and humiliated. which feels weird.

also unheard & misunderstood, again,  but then kinda meh ..

it aint nothing new.

that there has been so many who have taken the time to try and make me feel diminished, so as to make themselves feel better.

is tiring.

but to laugh, or make light of, my wound … on my trauma.

my gapping but healing wound ..

my, try every day to manage my reality, wound ..

is beyond what I imagined it would feel like.  does &  did , feel like.

youre not the first to dismiss, to try and minimise what you believe to be the issue.

youre not the first to try and validate your disdain and disapproval masked as disappointment. youre not the first with the inability to be truthful, fully.

& youre not the first to stomp your foot at my boundaries.

.

you are the last though.

.

& today im gonna rest.

.

& you can go fuck yo’self.


kpm©


 

cos ..

Sometimes I feel so fucken fragile it fucks me right off.

Like whhhy.

Why can’t I just be solid all the fucken time.

Yeah yeah ..

Rhetorical question.


kpm©


 

& on the 3rd day .. they sat the fuck down

they actually were more concerned with not upsetting him rather than not upsetting me.

.

& now, it’s amusing that I’m anxious & afraid . 

still more interested in getting their own gratification in whatever form than listening to what I have I survived, become, endured, .. you just want the comfortable parts.

.

well i’m all out of that shit sir.


kpm©


 

6th thought for the day.

10 years of alone in my misery & learning.

what the fuck you think I been doing mate.

yep, figuring out my own shit & how to live with it.

to live.

& now you wanna have prayer circles & speak to the dead.

now you want to decolonise and admit how terrified you are.

now.

after all the bs.

hey .. it’s emotionally fucking draining.

& is this what they call “emotional labour” ??

for me,

it’s a new phase of radical self care as I watch those who gonna implode, implode.

cos, like i says :

i’m.done.explaining.myself.


kpm©


 

tis what ..

anger or is it inadequacies?

your shit .. focussed at me?

the words, the actions, the shifts, the changes, the blame, the yelling. the shits.

yes I pick up them vibes.

i don’t understand completely what they are, i just know they gonna cost me something.

.

& guess what.

i said.

i’m.done.explaining.myself.

that is all. 


kpm©


 

Image

.. .. ..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

‘& where u been for the last decade ..’
.
.
.
ewwwww, bitch please.
.
.
.
judge not lest u wana be motherfuckin judged_ith yoself.
.
.
.
#dontknowifyoudontwanttoknow
#dontknowifyoudontask
.
.
#kpm©


*edit :

To expand ..
A recent conversation with an ‘out of touch friend’, had bold yet stenchy lil undertones .. fragrance was, fear with a large dolop of judgement.
I understood the fear.
.
But dude.
I been doing my work.
I been doing my healing.
& I don’t owe you shit.
If you’d wanted to know you would’ve asked, years ago.
But you weren’t interested then and youre not interested now.
You just want me to make you feel better about yo’self.
Guess what?
It don’t work that way!

.

we could write a thesis on this shit .. but it tiring af.

.


kpm©


 

angry

today i was told i was ‘too angry’.

pfft.

.

ever wondered why?

.


kpm©


 

Image

decol ..

I realised quite a few years ago, ( as another part of this whole decolonising hikoi ) that all the info I was being ‘fed’, was white. that’s just the way it is, or so I was told.
so I decided to remedy that by filtering out all white white resources .. which means, I don’t do white news, or white movies, or white ‘scientific’ facts, or white medical facts .. my first port of call is ancestors, brown / indigenous & black. white is an after thought.
easy peasy you might think?
but No.
it took about a year, after filtering out the other, to build up decent go-to resources of the BIPOC persuasion.
lately, as I’ve watched our world implode, I’ve realised that Most, not all, but most peeps, even my own, still refer to the white methodologies, resources, references & advice first .. & everything else .. maybe .. as an after thought.
you want to understand? like, really? change who & what you listen too.
it won’t take you long from there, to see & understand the disparity. feel & understand the struggle & the tenacity of survival. watch & witness the resilience & brilliance of thriving.
you can’t fuck with that.
.
.
.
Ps, the whitest resource I own is FB 😂 JS .. & that is coming to a close real soon ✊🏾
.
.
.
#decolonise
#decoloniseyourmind
#decoloniseyourresources
#decoloniseyourtime
.
.
#kpm©
.
(I don’t own & can’t take credit for the picture)


kpm©


 

ps:

criticise all you like ..

i know what my demons look like.

do you?


kpm©


 

Image

quote & conversations

the conversations, or lack thereof really, has been completely fucking interesting.

to those that fucked with this on a deep ass level .. who felt it completely .. i hear you!!

dont ever shut your mouth!!

as an addendum, on the original post, i added  .. just so we know <3


kpm©


 

.. .. qt .15

just, stop.

completely, stop.

entirely, stop.

now, breathe.


kpm©


 

my uterus.

upon further pontification .. im thinking with this whole menopausal thing, that with the ending of my cycles, comes the ending of my uterus being weaponised against me.  .. further pontification needed.


kpm©


 

another shift ..

2-3 aug 2020.

this isn’t pleasant .. thats my version of a trigger warning i spose. & i’ve dictated it in very short unedited terms.

it is what it is :


dream.

had period, bleeding heavy.

was in pjs, got up to go to bathroom to get a pad.

felt ‘presence’, not seen physical person though – biggish presence – hurried. threatening. looming presence.

felt behind / to side of me first.

knew it was coming, turned head to see no one.

grabbed my arms.

my pants started to come down and blood was dripping.

i was turning my head to see where i was being moved / directed too.

bedroom.

not sure whose.

bed – pushed forcefully down.

they were quiet but the presence was ‘strong’.

they’d pinned my arms.

their weight was heavy on me & i couldn’t move.

i knew there were people around.

the thought occurred to me that i didn’t want to disturb the other people but decided it was my only chance to get this thing away.

as they lifted their arms to rip my top open which they did, and they grabbed both breasts in their hands forcefully, i felt scared.

with that feeling i opened my mouth and throat to scream.

while they were distracted.

the scream started off small and i forced it to be bigger and bigger and louder.

enough to scare the presence.

enough to wake me up.

i woke up semi screaming yelling.

frozen-ish ..

but calm & pleased.

its a shift.

.

no-one heard me. noone woke up.

.

.


kpm©


 

reckonings

yesterday i had a conversation. 

pause.

that conversation confirmed what i knew to be true.

pause.

.

there aren’t too many people that i either love or trust. & am im fine with that now. i no longer buy into the theory that i need to love & light on everybody & that im somehow missing out because i dont trust.

trust is earned. its not a right. its also not a commodity. it also means that if i dont ‘trust’ you per se, that i won’t not fuck with you. we can have an exchange for whatever purposes, that dont require me to completely trust, or love you, for that matter.

.

so, this conversation centred around someone i love, some i trust. 

.

it turns out their narrative for me is a lot different when they talk to someone else.

i had suspected as much but like i said, i can still fuck with someone and not trust them completely.

.

turns out their narrative however, pretty much discounted my experience of child sexual assault by …

  1. amplifying those involved on the peripherals
  2. stating that they weren’t there so they dont know
  3. that because they are male they also dont know because that sort of thing cant happen to them
  4. disregarding / discounting the source of the information – me
  5. quoting the adage of leaving the past in the past.

im still processing.

i think im hurt.

maybe more disappointed.

but not unrealistically so, i think i was just hopeful.

deep realisation that they probably will never get it and dont want to.

that ‘the feeling’ of not being welcome or accepted or believed, is alive and fucken well.

today it hurts.

over the last week ive known there was something coming .. a change, a shift. that the narrative of the family of origin had written for me, actually benefited them, not me. for them to hear me would require they do some work on themselves. deep work.

instead they are rolling with the playwright that says our family were hard working good folks who paid their dues and thats it.

nowhere in there is there accountability mentioned for the pedo fuck or the myriad of twisted ways he fucked me up. neither is there any mention of the myriad of ingenious ways i survived & spent countless years undoing his fuckery so my kids would never have to experience that kind of indignity.

with the voiceover of a few empty words, they discounted the trauma & violation, the survival & management, the growth & enlightenment. 

.

i’ll sit with it.

but it won’t consume me.

its done that for too many years.


kpm©


 

who?

i think i was about 8 or 9 when i knew who eva braun was.

i also thought everyone else knew that too. that this was a semi normal conversation piece for the meal table.

.

it wasnt.


kpm©


 

agro-what

.

im not sure when agrophobia started .. when i became terrified of leaving the house and being out in the open like a sitting duck.

i know it was a long time before covid .. along time before i got older .. a long long long ass time.

guess what.

i’m over it.


kpm©


 

the past

i met my big girls father when i was about 12. he was 13. he was my first ‘boyfriend’, such as ‘it’ was. the ‘relationship’ involved long silent phone calls, an ‘eye’ acknowledgement occasionally, a possible wave & more than anything, the title of being someones girlfriend & vice versa.

that ‘relationship’ didn’t last long of course. 

we ‘met’ again when i was about 14 or 15. the relationship i entered into with him wasnt with deep reflection or thought on my part, it was a knee jerk reaction to all that i was, all i wanted to get away from, all that i thought would ‘fix’ & remedy what i needed, which was, in a nutshell, protection.

what i actually entered into was a childish relationship, a violent relationship & a series of events that would add to and change the course of who i was, forever.

our time together was violent. drunken. full of angst & unknowns. poverty. disempowerment. dishonouring. anguish.

out of all of that came our beautiful little baby girl.

i had just turned 16 when she was born. still a baby myself, upon reflection.

.

today her fathers mother, her grandmother, died.

.

when she rang to let me know, i felt nothing. no sympathy. no angst. no sorrow. no nothing.

.

as we talked more there was a stirring in my gut that has only just started to dissipate. sort of.

.

it was a time in my life that i walked away from. i chose to leave the relationship as it became more violent. but leaving, as such, was harder than i had anticipated.

.

all that memory came galloping to the from of my brain & my feels today. & i wasnt prepared for it.

seems to be the way shits working out with me at the moment.

.

i’ve spent a few hours wading through things i had purposefully forgotten. partially because at the time, there was no other way to deal with it. my safety, my girls safety, were more paramount than  any other ‘feeling’ i may have had.

.

remembering that i was 16 at the time.

.

how does a 16 year old, in all reality, deal with this in a manner that is ‘appropriate’?

.

well i did.

even with everything else (sexual assault aftermath & continued hostilities) going on, i knew i had to keep my girl safe.

.

i realised today, that at the time of beatings, bottles flying, walls and windows being broken, car crashes, no food, no means of escape .. i was beyond petrified. 

.

again.

.

but being petrified propelled me to change shit. to get away by any means necessary.

.

and i did.

.

today i felt all that again. and im still reeling but am finding a different kind of ground or firm footing for myself. 

.

i’m not that scared child. that scared young mother. that person. that person who experienced all that physical violence. 

i’m grown.

i more than survived it.

i had one beautiful friend who would check on me & i am eternally grateful for him.

.

i’m all grown up even though i thought i was grown then, that was a forced grown. a child that was sexually assaulted & tortured, who grew up trying to escape. & that continued throughout my life and relationships. whether i chose willingly or unconsciously, ive been trying to escape all my life.

.

im tired.

& rightly so.

i survived.

& rightly so.

im good like that.

.

this part of my life needs a proper burial i decided.

i need to face it dead in its eye. deal & let it go.

.

thing is, this letting go thing, is a new layer. its different. deeper.

i know its good, it just doesnt feel good. 

.

it hurts i think.

.

it hurts that my girl has to deal with the new layers what i wanted to protect her from. as an adult she has chosen to relate to this family. and i admire the fuck out of her for it.

it just hurts to watch it all unfold.

.

sucks ass actually.

.

.

(this is from a couple weeks ago .. bit delayed .. & still lots going on with this shizz .. im here .. im doing it ;) )


kpm©


 

a narrative ..

they said i wanted to grow up too fast.

but that was the wrong narrative.

i was forced to be grown. & at the time y’all did nothing to stop that from happening or to ensure my childhood was preserved.

now i am grown completely, raging even, & the accurate is being told & still y’all dont like it.

but thats too fucking bad.

.


kpm©


 

its progress.

i threw my broken finger nail onto the grass ..

.

i know, it sounds weird af. but there is an explanation & a shift.

i want to remember this.

.

when i was little, & in the throws of being sexually assaulted *insert eye ball roll*, there was a story i was told, quite a few times, if i remember rightly.

fuck face would talk about satanism & nazism A Lot. in amongst all his trash talk (which i didn’t know was trash talk then), he talked about how satanists would gather up the hair or fingernails of people they wanted to curse. they’d use those items to do a bit of a funky blood soaked ritual & tadah, curse laid.

now i didn’t know that this wasnt satanism. i also believed his bullshit because everything he said & did was to my detriment so it was kinda better to be on the safe side & roll with the BS he spouted. & obviously, there was no google then. & the climate of my ‘christian’ upbringing supported his line of twoodle.

anyways .. enter adulthood & i started to learn better.

i figured out, fuck face had borrowed from his limited understanding of voodoo *insert another big ass eye ball roll*, & laced it with his satanist slash nazi BS ..

why? cos it sounded good & it terrified everyone, especially me.

guess what .. a terrified person / child is a lot more pliable than an assertive confident one.

anyways .. even though i understood all this as an adult, i ‘d still burn my fingernails and toenails, & hair for that matter, after they’d been cut. i’ve been doing it for years without giving it much thought. culturally, we use to bury them ; as in, so they are returned to the earth. not many peeps do that anymore .. but yeah.

but as this grown ass adult, here i was, still, all these years later, just doing the cautious thing, even though my ‘better judgement’ knew it to be BS.

so the other day, after i’d broken a nail,  i tracked it down & proceeded to throw it into the fire .. & then i stopped, & waited.

standing there like a dufus, i recounted the countless freakish moments of fear that led me to this pointless fingernail burning ritual.

& realised that every time i do it, i give it life.

its BS, & i give it life because it had become a cautious & necessary part of my young existence .. but i realised, i wasnt little anymore, i had a choice based on fact, not horrific fantasy.

i ended up crying.

holding on to that bloody fingernail & crying my eyeballs out.

then i stopped.

then i got overwhelmed with anger.

then ..

i threw that bitch out on to our lawn.

funny thing .. i felt like my whole internal being, literally shifted.

it took a couple hours to process .. & then i went & looked for the fingernail lol ffs.

& when i couldn’t find it, then i let it go.

.

i think theres gonna be quite a few moments like this .. coming and going .. as i figure out the ‘new me’ that wants to live without all that fuckery attached to my throat.

fuck him.

fuck his fucked up voodoo satanist BS stories.

fuck his nazi BS.

completely & utterly, fuck that cunt!

this is #mystory now!


kpm©