it is my body.

ever watched a movie, where only certain bits of it stick with you & by the time you get too the end you know you gonna have to re-watch it to understand the whole thing?

yeah, well that’s what i feel like at moment. actually, what i’ve felt like for quite a long while now.

i know i’ve been trying to slowly unravel my own mystery & at times i feel like i’m succeeding; @ other times, i feel like i’ve lost the plot, quite literally.

well over the last few days a few more pieces to my ‘owning my own space’ story, have become a little clearer.

following on from my last couple of posts, i’ve become quite aware that who & what i am @ present, is pretty much a shell.

thats not to say its a bad thing or even a bad place to be; but i guess i haven’t quite understood my own feng shui entirely.

but as i’ve started piecing together the life that has been mine, i’ve realised how detached i’ve been from all thats gone on around me & the deleterious effect of the things that had happened to me. i get that i have pts(d) & that comes from child sexual assault.

what i haven’t entirely grasped is the amount of time i had struggled to feel safe & that any amount of absolute ‘body ownership’ & safety in my space, has only started to come about after my grandfather died & i no longer had to see the person who had assaulted my personage & my personality for years.

that has only been within the last 11 years.

i started completely losing my shit about 11 years ago.

i had been kind of aware that the 2 events collided. i hadn’t really realised just how much they collided.

when my grandfather died, we were all there. by we, i mean the only people i have ever really loved besides him. that is my daughters & my mother.

the afternoon leading up to my grandfathers death, we had to put up with that pedo assailant cunt being present with us, making a fucking menace of himself as usual. a few hours before my grandfather died, the pedo cunt left. well he ran away actually. & none of us stopped him & none of us cared he left.

i had put up with him to a certain extent over the years because i wanted to be with my grandparents. but in the years after my 2nd daughter was born & i cared more for my kids safety than my own, i had culled the amount of time we spent at my grandparents & tolerated the company of the pedo. they knew what he had done to me in the years following the birth of my kids, because i told them. i was tired of the lies & tired of putting up with his bullshit.

that confrontation had an unusual effect on our family. which i have since learned, isn’t really that unusual at all.

my grandmother went into denial. she made excuses for her son but at the same time tried really hard to be consoling of me. i could see she was torn.

my mother was much the same.

my brother was possibly to young to understand but I’m sure it effected him.

my grandfather cried & apologised & treated his son with more disdain than he had prior to learning this piece of information. it would be fair to say he hated him. i didn’t care.

what has all this piecing together come too?

i’ve realised that my body, such as it was, never felt safe … or mine, until i no longer had to be around the pedo cunt anymore. & i have felt so detached from it i barely know how to stay in it. my body that is.

i’ve protected myself with detachment. but now that that isn’t necessary & the threat of having him in & around me, is no longer there, i still don’t feel safe in my body.

a few weeks ago, i read the follow piece from an article @

“This is why I love the Ta-Nehisi Coates quote so much: “my spirit is my flesh.” Historically, we have had to disassociate ourselves from our own physical bodies as a form of resistance and survival. When you are forced to stand naked on a auction block wearing nothing but shackles and chains while having your body sold into slavery, your flesh becomes a property and the only thing you could possibly retain in that moment is your spirit.”

its stuck with me but i haven’t really got why, until today.

my spirit is strong. its what kept me alive. i’ve called it my ‘fight’ or my determination; which is also my spirit.

my spirit, or fight, is strong, because my body & my mind has never really been my own. its been manipulated, twisted, contorted, destroyed, violated & broken by cunts who are quite happy to take & destroy.

now i have a chance to reassemble myself as i see fit. as i desire.

& it feels like i can take with me what i want to, from my past, & i can completely dump what i dont want. its not mine. its something that was ’caused’ in reaction to anothers harm … & it was my survival.

i dont need it anymore.

my body & my mind, is wholly my own. no-one elses.

i’m not owned or too small or too malaible to be contorted anymore. & i have nearly rested enough to understand this.

so now its time for something new. something different. something wholly mine. something empowering. something stronger than what i have been.

& i’m just a little bit excited i reckon ;)




‘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 ©



trying the unfucking of thyself.




Homai to Aroha


so, i’ve decided to work on ‘feeling’ … not emotional shit (unless it should make an appearance), but physical feeling.

a little while ago i realised that due to being a disassociated twat for my entire life, & for good reason, part of my present anxiety, can be related to new sensations.

i’ve talked about this before: that i can’t tell the difference between certain sensations the absence of emotion & feeling has produced a lack of knowledge in the whole ‘feeling’ realm.

anyway … today i decided to start small so i lay out in the sun in our back yard. which is actually big for me, cos i don’t really like the sun or the heat.

so, on our back lawn (on a blanket of course, cos grass makes me itchy – yes, i was one of ‘those’ kids @ school lol) in my shorts & boob tube (probably not a very nice sight for the neighbours, but who gives a fuck ay … this is life changing shit right here ;) ), this is what i noticed:

the suns heat is hotter on the back of my hand,

as opposed to my palm. now i’m no scientist, but i’m guessing thats cos the palm is more ‘used’ therefore heartier, if yah get my drift.

i also noticed the sensation of the wind & the heat from the sun on my skin & even on my hairy ass legs. that was a strange sensation, feeling the 2 things in unison.

& lastly, i’m pretty sure my boobs used to be bigger than my tummy??? not sure when that happened so thanks a bunch gravity & hormone fuckery.

but, i am embracing it all.

oh, & i noticed all my stretch marks & scars. & for the first time, i felt proud :) us women are so used to covering up our birthing marks & putting our bodies through so much shit so we ‘look’ a certain way. fuck that i say! those days are waaaay over!

so this round of ‘mindful desensitisation’ was a success i reckon ;)

kpm © : ig @kpm-artist




start to hate.

my skin.

my hair.

my speech.

my walk.

my movements.

my legs.

my arms


start to hate.


kpm © : ig @kpm-artist



all those times

today i noticed

how delightful all my

pieces are.

how i wish

i had appreciated

them earlier.

and some i even


i had



wobbly tummy.

soft and gooey.

would’ve come in handy

when you punched it that time.


thick thighs.

solid and unbreakable.

would’ve come in handy

when you prized them open that time.


rough feet.

scaly and tough.

would’ve come in handy

when i ran away from you that time.


long fingers.

spindly and flexible.

would’ve come in handy

when your fingers were around my throat that time.


wrinkly toes.

aged and firm.

would’ve come in handy

to kick your fucking nuts in,

all those times.

kpm ©


hormones. wtf?

is bloating normal?

cos I look like I’m 6 months pregnant;

and isn’t that kinda

a contradiction?


kpm ©


ready, steady … go


I’ve pretty much detested being a biological woman most of my life. I felt like this body betrayed Me. I never wanted to be a man though. Ewww. But it’s a hard thing being stuck as something you despise but not wanting to be the alternative.

As the years went on I realised I didn’t have to be anything that was ‘prescribed’ for Me to be either: so I didn’t. I refused to state my gender; I refused to dress ‘ladylike’ – I found my own groove; I refused to speak ‘like a lady’ … yes, I found my own groove; I refused to be anything that was expected of me ‘as a woman’.

But I still despised my biology.

That has mainly been because I thought my gender is what got Me assaulted as a little girl. I didn’t realise then, that my gender had nothing to do with it. My vaginal hole, as tiny as it was, was not the pre cursor for being invaded by a sick cunt.


It was His sickness. It had nothing to do with Me … and as I found out many years later … the sick cunt had no preference between genders … his preference was ‘defenceless.’

By the time I hit my teens and my first baby was due, the after effects of the infant sexual assault had well and truly set in. But I didn’t realise that at the time. I dreaded motherhood. Not my child … but not being able to protect her. It was my Achilles heel.  By the time I was married and pregnant with my 3rd child, I was petrified. But this time, I was petrified of having a boy. Petrified of producing a sex offender. As weird as it sounds, the aftermath manifests in some interesting ways.

I was relieved when i birthed another baby girl, but then scared about the double protection I would have to provide.  I didn’t want to have anymore children. Partly because this world is no place for a child, or so I believed. And partly because I could feel myself starting to break. So I took the next logical step … and had my tubes tied. Yes, at 23, I took matters into my own hands.

I cracked about a year later and left my husband soon after.

Not to get into that story … my point is … being a woman has never been a good thing for Me. In my mind, it got Me assaulted, repeatedly … I bleed … I physically developed and was re-assaulted by both males and females. It has felt like my body has betrayed Me at every turning point.

I understand now that this isn’t really the narrative. Which is why I want to document – the good, the bad, and the learning – of menopause.

This is the final frontier lol.

I want to remember it and where I can, celebrate it, like I should have been doing all my life as a biological woman.

You see I get now, that being a biological woman is a fucking honour. To birth a child … to give new life … no matter what age you give birth … well that’s the greatest honour of all. We are the whare-tangata. And I have despised and sabotaged mine at every turn.

Now, I will celebrate and learn to love and embrace this final part of my journey … this Part of Me – hopefully ;)

kpm ©