today, i tried to get clean.

i tore @ the skin of my inner thighs.

i scraped the feeling of filth from my vulva & clitoris,

making my way onto the lining of my vagina;

i hoped to squeeze the bad from my cervix, fallopian tubes & uterus.

all the while i could hear them whisper

“just don’t think about it & it will go away”.

but i wasn’t thinking about it.

i was trying to get clean.

kpm ©




i had a plan.

kpm ©


the driving.

did i tell yah, i drove the other day?

well i did.

& even though i can’t go over 40ks without starting to shake, i feel comfortable as fuck, puttering along like a nana.

over the next few months i’m going to teach myself to drive again. slow & easy wins the race they reckon. so thats how i’m gonna approach this.

& cos if i wait for the elusive psychologist & their elusive exposure therapy, it could be another motherfucking year!!

nope. we doing it my way this time.

kpm ©



i don’t do secrets or leave things unfinished. untold.

kpm ©


flashbacks are back.

they’re coming like memories put to sour music. smells that stain your nostrils.

flash backs of being young, walking past ‘it’. ‘it’ grazing me, leering over me.

then being in the family scene, just waiting for the temper to flare up. the violence to break out. that gutt feeling, tight. i know in my puku, that everyone, including me, is afraid. but they’re ignoring & waiting.

kpm ©



remember, un earth & unfold.

take it from my head & throw it out into the open.

kpm ©


i have a feeling.

ewww, IKR.

but i have this feeling. that i’m going to confront him. do for myself what should have been done for me years & years & years ago.

it makes my gutt turn … but …

kpm ©


i can feel it.

today i felt the water on my back; then it running down my legs. i felt it, like i’m guessing, most people would when water touches them.

it felt weird.

not hot or cold. just drippy. moving.

as a dissociated twat, this is something i’ve never really felt before.

my pain threshold is reasonably high, so when i ‘feel’, its in terms of pain. tattoos. headaches. when i stub my toe on the corner of the table leg.

but by in large, i don’t – haven’t – felt things like, water dripping, or a light breeze across my face. i can’t feel my fingertips touch. i don’t really recognise my clothing against my skin. i know, cognitively, that its there, and therefore i ‘feel’ it. but i don’t ‘feel’ it.

today i felt the water on my back; then it running down my legs.

& while those around me might celebrate that, if i were to actually tell them; i’m not celebrating.

i know it’s coming.


it’s coming.

& i’m afraid of what i will ‘feel’ next.

kpm ©



you just cant stop someone / something triggering you.


kpm ©


changing purpose.

i’ve used my blog as a tool for venting & reconciling & that has worked well for me for the past 4 years. but that purpose is out of date & the focus of my blog is changing slightly. & i somehow think, if it’s even possible, that it will become slightly more raw.

as i am feeling more raw.

kpm ©



building permanence produces disappointment & loss.

temporal shit, doesn’t.

kpm ©


them say torn.

i’ve got holes, say they.

big gapping holes,  all over my personage.

not dainty little pinholes.

more like shreds of ripped rotting flesh.


although i adjust said holes,

spreading them out so they look like lace,

they don’t hold any warmth or induce comfort

or style.


as the wind howls through them

i feel nothing but a cool breeze.

as the torrential rains pound down,

i feel nothing but a light refreshing shower.


once a man tried to gather up the lengths

he mistakenly took for tatters.

he tried to point out the torn 

& the worn.


once that man tried to pull the holes together

& became disillusioned & confused

wondering why this wearer of holes

was trying to dance in the rain with it on.


he saw damage.

she was trying to see a leather jacket.

he saw ugly.

she was trying to see beauty.


these holes. they don’t hold anything in.

everything slips through them.

as unsightly as they may seem,

they serve a purpose.


& when she is done

they’ll wrap her cold body.

they’ll enshroud her corpse

& love her all the way back to the earth.

kpm ©





i see the things you cant see yet. 

& won’t see till later.

realising what i knew then:

you won’t acknowledge it.

kpm ©


why why why

why do we put up with it?

kpm ©



“always say please and thankyou …”




fierce ~

for too long

I have listened

remaining silent

to the ignorant

uncompassionate discourse

espousing their taunts:


“Get over it all ready …

Stop using it as an excuse …

That was years ago …

You need to forgive …

You need to move on”.


And as I have fought my own


of a pervert cunt

getting into

my tiny panties;

defending myself from an

impending assault that

exists only in my senses and dreams now;

I am loathed to


with you to understand my position;

to educate yourselves;

to show some empathy

and compassion.

Not realizing however,

that you,

the ignorant

do not wish to understand.


as I raised my own daughters,

I learned what

being 3 looks like.


It has grazed knees and tantrums.

It picks its nose and flicks it.

It imagines fairies and candy.

It rolls around on the floor with its cat.

It chases butterflies.

It draws pictures and bakes cakes with its Nan.


and what it doesn’t look like.


It doesn’t have nightmares.

It doesn’t hide under the bed.

It doesn’t hold its head because it hurts.

It doesn’t slice its arms.

It doesn’t piss its pants in fear.

And it deserves

Fierce, fierce


So now I defend my being;

my position.

And I refuse to listen to any more

uneducated bullshit

or let ignorance be an excuse

or an answer.


And for her,

for me;


for all those little people

that didn’t make it

out of that dark room

with prying fingers

and filthy deeds;

for all those little people

who never got the chance

to get out

and grow up

and live a life worth fucking living;

for all those little people,

just like me,

who grew up

into big people,

who are still battling their demons

and healing their scars;

who have rocked in the corner

holding their head in their hands,

for far too fucking long;

I will keep speaking the unwelcome truths

and the

mundane horrors,

so we will be heard,

our stories told.

So we can change

the future for all

Our Babies.


Haumi e! Hui e! Tāiki e!




some days, weeks, months;

there are



i’m learning that,

that –

is ok too.





“don’t be too proud and full of yourself … it’s a long way to fall …”




blame game…

the parent

for not protecting

for not loving

for not noticing

the teacher

for not teaching

for not educating

the crowd

for not acting

for not responding

the bystander

for freezing

the friend

for not intervening

the siblings

for not notifying

the victim

for being in the wrong place at the wrong time

for wearing their skirt to short

for being too flamboyant

for being to gay

for being to vulnerable

for being drunk

for being to small

for just;



the perp






go on.

say something.

tell me how I should do it.

what I should feel.

tell me

I’m wrong.

tell me

I need to get a life.

go on.

raise your voice.

your tone.

puff your shoulders up.

stretch out the back bone.

lift that chin.

tell me, tell me

I’m fucked.

I’m a mongrel.

I’m lazy.

I’m useless.

go on, mother fucker.

tell me again.

tell me, what you think.

tell me what I should really be thinking.

go on, correct my feelings.

I fucking dare you.

tell it like it is.

tell me, fuck yah.

go on, just like you used to do.

when I was weaker,


in need,


wanting a hand,

a shoulder,

was whiny,


isn’t that how you put it.

mongrel bitch,

go on, try it again motherfucker.

please, please.

I am in need of a dam good fucking argument.

you used to like it like that,

but now,

not so much, ay.

because my voice

my arm

my anger

my fierce

my being

my woman

my heart

my soul

and my fucking steel


don’t play that shit no more.

so, I tell you.

I dare you.

try it, go on, try it.

and see what happens.