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she / her .. them

surreal ..
is that what I feel.
not sure.
.
seems to sum up the whole of this sitch_ation.
.
it feels familiar af.
foreign af.
heavy af.
.
i think i can hear my tipuna.
the kuia i heard in the stars
@ the start of this multifaceted fuckery.
.
i said i wanted to find her.
& i heard a faint karanga.
low & easy.
.
i thought that meant, physically, I’d find her.
.
but i don’t think that’s the dilly now.
.
sometimes I feel
a scene unfolding through someone else’s eyes.
i see water.
not the ocean.
ripples, & a gentle rhythm of paddles in the water.
I hear twigs breaking.
I smell wet dirt.
I feel,
right.
at home.
.
pre white.
pre invasion.
pre.
.
ae.
that kuia.
as a kotiro,
before they came & destroyed her world.
.
sometimes I can feel them all.
all the kuia .. from all their lands.
karanga @ the same time.
loud & long ..
piercing the night skies.
sending shivers down the spines of all tane,
living & dead.
.


kpm©

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.. .. & then, there was you ..

i have little faith in humanity.
& No faith in the systems that have set themselves up to control my existence.
i have no faith in a god that doesn’t hear and choses not to see.
i have no faith in those that utilise that logic.
.
there is nothing in this present fuckery that would suggest that anyone has me & mine, best interests in mind. rather, they are more concerned about a collective that doesn’t exist and a lie rather than history & honesty.

but such is my history, no?

it’s taken a while to grieve, acknowledge & adjust.

& we both know it’s not done.

in amongst it all, i wait to hear you.

but you & I know that truth, right.

you know I weighed you up.

the options were similar to what is being presented atm. & the pressure and timeframe feels just as tight, jarring & triggering af.

but I keep waiting to hear you. waiting for you to tell me what to do.

like i’ve ever listened to anyone anyways  living or dead .. but you know this, right.

i can feel the same angst i felt all those years ago. that still tails me when i feel  pressure & coercion .. waiting for the analyst part of me to kill all my emotions & take the fucking wheel.

but you know that right.

do you remember me touching you .. well, holding the place where you grew ..  just as your sibling had been a short while before.

you felt that ever present knot, that resides all up in that place, right.

you heard me scream from that place, right.

did you hate me then, or feel pity. knowing that my choice was going to be self preservation.

i knew, you knew.

how cruel is that ay.

i don’t know if I’ll ever make complete peace with my choices. or if I’ll ever not hate those that got me to that place. or if I’ll ever not feel that loathing you see in my eyes. feel in my soul.

I know you know I loved you.
I know you know I could feel you leave.

Or did that happen to the both of us ay.

I also know you know I know you know, it should never have been that way .. but it was .  It is.

I hope to hear you some day.
Feel you, maybe.

Or maybe you know I know it hurts too much, so you don’t whisper at me.

i do feel the pitter patters of your teeny tiny feets on my chest though, trying to make it crack.

Grieve. Feel.

It hurts like fuck.
But you know that, right.

& I am trying .. breathing.
.
.
I’ve put you amongst your tipuna & your siblings ..  neices & nephews.

I’ll leave you there for as long as you need.

well, as long as I need.
.
I love you.
I always have.
I always will.
.
.
#babylossawareness
#amethyst

#whakatahe #babyloss


#kpm©

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and ..

there’s something quite soul crushing about, not just being told your a shit ass mother, true or not .. but having your mama – hood, forcefully removed.
.
& then to have your child / ren used as tools of coercion, is an entirely different kinda fuckshit.

Type of fuckshit that’ll opt for abortion.
Type of fuckshit that’ll opt for sterilization over contraception.
Type of fuckshit that will pre book a space in hell for the weilder of coercion.
Type of fuckshit that would see the village burned to the motherfucking ground.

Type of fuckshit that is visceral af.


kpm©

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& it just kept .. on.

I was 17.

I’d had surgery not long before the summons.

They’d removed a lump from my breast.

& It still hurt.
I still hurt.

‘wean the baby off the breast .. so there’s no milk ..’, had been the doctors orders.

I did it.
Apparently it was for ‘our’ health.
.
I wore all black to court.

I was Nervous.
Actually my chest was so tight I could hardly breathe.

I walked into the dusty old room with the tables arranged in such a way it suggested I wasn’t there for a light chat & cuppa tea & I was gonna lose, no matter what I said or did.

I listened.

Watched & Listened.

Noone Looked at me though.
Not actuals at me.

They browsed my face.

That’s how they roll though. Browsing.

Same people I persumed lived in those pretty houses. that don’t come out for beaten brown womxn.

@ court, when they had finished pillaging my character & personhood, I walked out & I was no longer a mama.

I was half a mama.

Joint guardianship or something like that, is what they declared.

it meant Id have to continue swallowing my voice. Noone was interested in truth here.

I guess I’d thought up until then, that it was surely going to get better.
That Jesus Christ wasn’t really this fucken cruel.

But I was wrong.


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©

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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©

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©

&

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©

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& then there was this ..

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.

playing music.

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.

Yeah.
that’s it.


kpm©