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.
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.
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.
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.
yah know how I been talking randomly about shit being hard, good shit I mean .. being hard to do when you in a state of panic or anxiety .. & that loving something enough to want to be doing it is like, level zero. cos you been wired to be picking up on multiple threats or deal with multiple layers of anxiety and trauma, all at once? well … it kinda pissed me off .. & got me thinking. what do I love. love enough to want to be doing all the time. not a job. but a thing, what you call it .. a hobby .. anyways .. after thinking a lot a lot one night lol the only thing I could come up with that I absolutely loved .. have always loved .. was, music. specifically, playing music. & as lame ass as it seemed at first lol I’m gazing round my room, looking at my records, & staring at my decks, & pondering on the meaning of motherfucking life and existence lol & there it was. my love. the thing I’ve always loved. playing music. then I got nervous .. groan. & my head says .. ‘you suck at playing those’ ..
& instead of entertaining that thought process, my insides said .. ‘fuck up. she been busy surviving & now she got time to do whatever the fuck she wants to in whatever capacity she wants.’
so that’s what I’m doing.
going through all my records. figuring out which ones I love. trying to mix them. changing the BPM cos I didn’t know what I was doing way back when. listening. smiling. listening some more.
guess what. I love it. dunno for how long. dunno if it’s something I’ll do forever. but .. if I died tomorrow. I’d be happy with what I’ve discovered.
it’s near impossible to read anything when u feel unsafe? that’s what came to me today. after wondering what it is I love or even like, to do. i realised I’d been following the sunshine round my house, you know, when it comes through the windows and is warm but not too hot . . & I sit or lie in it’s warmth, & read … i’m reading three books now. mainly just one though. it’s from a series of kids horror books .. the other 2 books are way more grown up, but I like the kid ones. anyways, I realised, I never read for the fuck of it, because I was always alert. whilst alert nothing can be a major distraction because your senses are spread out. & there’s no room for engrossing make believe when real life is exhausting as fuck. sooooo, today I’ll continue with my little horror books. lying on the floor in the sun. in safeish safety. practicing .. rest. without all my senses freaking themselves the fuck out. . fyi :just random thoughts.