kia ora ..

just a hello and a welcome to the tonne of newbies .. i see yous and thankyou for the follow!

so, as you peruse, you’ll see there doesnt seem to be much of a structure to this blog lol .. & thats purposeful.

i know i know.

i write & dump & hollah & scream & upload & download & dump some more .. as i feel.

for me, this is entirely the essence of anxiety & pts(d) for me.

within it, i’ve found some kinda semblance of balance & peace.

@ the end of the day thats all im trying to do really.

if you find some kind of something out of it too, then cool. & youre welcome lol.

but dont try to figure it out. you’ll just mind fuck yo’self lol & no-one wants that ay.

anyways .. welcome to you all .. even those selling yo wares .. yeah i see yous too …

.


kpm(c)

unfortunate chain of events , nei …

see

they aren’t talking,

cos it’s an unwelcome

uncomfortable truth.

& for some,

it’s just way more profitable that we stay killing ourselves & our own.

[ surely not you say ..]

[but .. yes ..]

it’s about more than talking.

it’s about patriarchy,

misogyny,

colonisation,

trauma,

intergenerational trauma ..

mash all that up with a tonne of booze & a pandemic

and tadah.

if we can completely change a societies structure in just over a year,

to include tracing people,

places

and households,

for the betterment of ‘communities’,

then we should have sorted the Domestic Violence shit storm years ago.

no?

yes?

But we haven’t.

why not?

go back to the top.


kpm©

Sooooo. .

Guess what.
.
I realised the other night, that I actually enjoy bedtime.
.
Right. I know most enjoy it .. but I have never ever not ever.
.
Never.
.
Why.
.
Aside from the nightmares that had plagued me forever.. sleep is the ultimate vulnerability.
.
Yup. Let that soak.
.
So becoming aware of the fact that I actually enjoy, not just being a little ok, but enjoy, look forward too .. bed and sleep. .
.
Is fuck ing A Maze ing 
.
That’s it.
.


kpm©

Ae, that’s it

It’s grief
Deep ass grief
Fuck
What wasn’t
What I know could have been
But wasn’t
It’s not bitterness
It’s just loss
Loss and grief
And as I come to an end
As we all do
I can feel, not regret
Just grief
It’s been a long long long
Ass road
Long ass


kpm©

Image

is ..

My tears are thick
My body, irritated.
Muscles, they ache.
My chest is heaviness.
Down to under my ribs, it heaves.
Throbs.
Screams.
But silently.
My stomach knots.
Tight, like my fists.
My thighs.
My calves.
All recoiled.
Solid.

And that is it’s existence.

Trying to be gentle with myself, is like ..
Like.

A bad fucken joke.


kpm©

here’s a dream for yah .. yup I still have em

fuck face was dead. id halved him to put in a box to put outside.
noone cared.
Then he woke up.
But different.
.
Cut to my Nan and grandad’s old place.
.
Aunty N .. came gave me a letter and a hug. @ Front porch of Nan’s old place.
.
A Big hug.
.
Another person, unnamed, came to some where .. where I was at,  motel or place we were all watching kapa haka. Moko was little. But acting grown.
.
Person came in and said ok I’m here to discuss .. something .. sounded like it was going to be friendly .. and then they said ..
.
Something like, youre mental health or you’re mental state is shit because you won’t agree with me.
.
As they started in though, fuck face came in, there were others, my daughter’s and grand kids ..
I got angry.
I let this person talk for ages. Rave on.
.
Everyone was looking at me walking around, pacing and this person was getting high off their own speech.
But they sounded absurd.
.
Then I let rip. Finally.
.
Said ‘tell me why’, in a big big voice, ‘why I went off the rails as u say .. got rebellious .. naughty’ ..
I was yelling ..
‘What age did that happen, do you remember.
Do you fucken remember when that fuck first hurt me.
No.
Have a guess. Nice and loud. Was it,
7, no, mokos age, no, lower .. lower .. 3 – 4 ..
And what did you do
What did you do.’
.
Noone moved.
They just watched.
They weren’t uncomfortable.
I was getting louder though. Not crying. Bit visbly angry.
‘What did you do when I came and told you.
What did you say
Did you stop going there.
Did you tell him off.
Did they fuck face?
No.
On and on.
And you have the the fucken cheek to be here telling me I’m mentally incompetent.

Fuck you.”
.
& That was the end of my dream.
When I woke up my throat felt different.


kpm©

truth

I’ve spent a lifetime
Mapping what to do next.
Also known as,
Evasive manouvres.

And now you telling me to stop it.

How about, how to make peace with it.

Or to utilize it for something else.

Cos it is literally part of me.

The angst comes from trying Not to be that & remove it.


kpm©

said it before , say it again, just cos

Simple clear functional spaces are my safe places / spaces.
Minimal.

So fucking minimal.

It’s a Calm space.


kpm©

eyeball rolling

so busy,

apparently necessarily ..

managing symptoms .. patching up holes ..

we can’t dismantle or eradicate the ’cause’.

Apparently.

Or even hold it accountable.

now that’s some bullshit.


kpm©

telling & retelling my story.

Me.
Healing my body.
Healing my story.
Narrating my own healing.
.
Whatever comes & whoever it comes for, after all that talking, & all the work ; is gravy.
.
.
Cos
First contact & awareness with my uterus, was forceful invasion.

She has carried that ever since.
Guarding.
Protecting.
Cleansing.
Growing.

She won’t ever not.

Even as she prepares to close her biological functions
She can prepare to let go of the maemae she has held until she could enact her memories.

All hail.


kpm©

& &

You sick filthy fucks.

Period.


kpm©

Image

& because

It’s my body.
Mine.
Not yours.
Not theirs.
It’s.mine.

Everytime some whim of ‘you should’ crosses my ear holes ..
My body is now literally decided to noticeably Object.
By noticeably.
I mean.
I’m noticing it.
Actually.

All I feel, when the uncomfortable sensation dissipates ..
Is, awe.

That she felt, held, screamed, cried, breathed, survived .. for so, muthafkn long.


kpm©

here .. to dump

fyi .. the world hasn’t just recently turned into a shit fest ..

it’s always been that way.

just the skids are showing now 🙄

& still cunts wanna put glitter on it & call it ‘content’.

fuck me. it’s some bullshit alright.


kpm©

.. just is ..

Guts tightening .. feeling like vomiting but not exactly …
More like invaded , consumed  ..
I can breathe ..
But
But
My insides are screaming.

Let me go
Let me out

My other insides are trying to soothe me.

It’s ok.
Just breathe gf.
Just breathe.

But I don’t want to breathe I want to cry.
Scream.
Run.
Curl up into a ball and die.
Kill.
Cry.
All at once.

And my guts tightens.

We coming to a close.
Slowly.

Or more like a resolution. Partnership maybe.

And my guts tightens.

And I can feel my wairua fighting.
Again.
Fighting to breathe.

Fighting to calm.

Fighting to balance.
Fighting for perspective.
Reasoning.
Solutions.

Me & her.
We tight.

Just tryna get the rest of the fucken team on board .. (the body .. groan)
Fucker.


JK.
I got use.

Somewhere. I got use.


kpm©

Image

psa

long term child sexual assault often gets referred to as an abusive ‘realtionship’.
it’s not.
i repeat.
it.is.not.


kpm©

&

Child .. invasion.
But not being able to describe the sensation.
Of being or having no control over what is happening to your body.

It’s not shame.
Even though those honkies say that’s what it is.
It ain’t.

It’s not breathing.
Not being able to take a breathe.
Literally.
That’s fear.
Fear of dying.
For real.

I feel no shame for something someone else chose to enact on my body.
My body.

I feel fear.
Hot burning fear.

Translating into hot burning rage.


kpm©

. . . tell yah what’s hideous

the feeling.

or concept.

of being out of control. of your body.


Breathe.
Just breathe.


kpm©

the smear shit

Someone says to me the other day .. ‘have yah smeared yah mear’ .. & while I get the sentiment .. I also wondered where on earth they dug too to come back with the audacity to ask me about my minge & what I do with it.

Cos apparently us natives don’t know any better.

Smears are free for us marrriiis. And all hail you and your teke if you want the plastic crowbar up there .. but honestly, I ain’t gonna post on IG whether my minge got hoisted open and scrapped.

My minge my business.
And I’m not even going near the trauma allllll that shit entails.
My minge, my trauma, my business.

JS


kpm©

***

i can chose the ancestors i speak of & the stories i want to re tell.
it’s my choice.
i narrate that shit.


kpm©

agree or not ..

it’s pretty hard to heal per se, when you busy surviving ..
Not just abuse ..
But everyday bs.
Housing.
Food.
Clothing.
Schools.
Health.

Just regular living bs.

& yet here we are. Doing that shit.


kpm©