speaking of bs ..

why cant they just say what they mean.


just some thoughts ..

It’s strange times atm.

What I’m noticing is the reluctance for reality.


Had a convo that led to the topic of sexual assault and I made an offer for this person to peruse the evidence I had given for the ACC review. So that could see for themselves the reality that is, me.

I was accused of trying to traumatise them.


So .. this brings up a tonne of questions for me.

One – why is it so hard to discuss the facts of an ordeal such as sexual assault? What doesn’t the world want to hear? Or an individual? Why are they so hell bent on believing lies rather than seeking truth?

I get it’s strange times, but this depth of denial is not new.

It’s what keeps children being repeatedly offended against.

Also how is speaking truth about someone else’s truth traumatising to another?

I’m beginning to believe the world is full of pussies.




an unload.

it is what it suggests & thats all.

i’ve spent most of my 47 years surrounded by people & institutions that would rather wade in the shallow end & enjoy the pretty water. they’re happy in what i’d call their blind submission & dim gaze. they dont want to hear or see anything beyond their minimal paddling pool because the rest is too far beyond comprehension, their reality & their pain threshold.

i’ve spent all of my 47 years treading water in the deep end. occasionally i sink, inhale water, near drown & then fight for the surface & air again.

i’ve spent nearly all of my 47 years doing that alone.

i’ve spent most of those 47 years screaming for help.

i’ve spent all of those 47 years wondering why on earth no-one hears or helps.

i’ve spent nearly all of those 47 years also wondering what the shallows feel like.

recently i found out.

im not impressed.

in the shallows there is nothing but illusion & mediocrity. although i can tell myself that its ok to be there, to rest, to listen to those around me that say its all about enjoyment & fulfilment, i dont really believe it. i dont believe it because its a lie.

i believe theres an in between, where you can enjoy the shallows for what they are & the deep for what they are. where you can wade between the two without drowning & without turning your back on those who are drowning.

i haven’t quite found that in between space yet.

i haven’t found it because im still yearning for some time of rescue that isn’t fucking coming.

i feel ashamed that i want to be rescued. that i want to know  what it feels like to have someone catch me by the arm & pull me to safety.

i feel ashamed.


because its an illusion? because it heightens vulnerability? because it smashes the hoax? because it reduces me to a small frail vulnerable frame of a womxn who cant look after herself?

no. i feel ashamed. because. then i’d have to admit that i once was small & no-one stood in the gap for me. no-one rescued me. no-one cared enough about me & less about themselves to abandon their own fears & hear me & save me.

it feels shameful because it means that i was not worth saving.

& so i have screamed at the world. screamed & screamed. knowing full well that no-one is listening. but i continue to scream.

guess what.

im tired of screaming.

i know with my head that it is their shame not mine that kept them silent & un-mobile. to afraid to tople the tower of lies. i know its not mine. but my heart. my soul.

thats cracked. well more like shattered. into a thousand teeny tiny pieces that are never going to be put back together again.

thats impossible.

its shattered & i wonder how. why. why would anyone do that to another. i dont understand & probably never will.

i get that the shallows is safer for them. but its also selfish & arrogant. to paddle around & pretend not to see someone drowning because they’re to comfortable in the pretty end of the pool.

also. without the analogies … it requires nothing of them. no hard work. no depth. no honesty. no dealing with the uncomfortable shit.

most won’t deal with it. they’re quite happy to live & die in ignorance & lies.

im not.

i cant.

kpm ©



theres a few pretty simple reasons i detest things that are hidden.



they knot you up inside.

they close your airways & cut off your oxygen.

they build up a callousness.

the kind that makes your ears hurt & your heart crack.

they make you unsure.



they make you squint in the dark.

& the light.

they drape themselves over anything that is free & tie it up in knots.

they shred decency.

they cannibalise sure footedness & create dependency.

they fill in the holes with mould.

they punch new holes next to the mouldy ones.

when your jaw hurts & your teeth ache; your throat dry retches ..

be sure there is a lie; an untruth; an unspoken reality ..

just waiting in the corner.

rocking backwards & forwards.

looking for a clear space to run through, screaming ..

fuck you all!

kpm ©



“im not trapped, i choose to be here.”

is a lie.

its been necessary.

but it is a lie.



i can only be responsible for healing, cleansing, repairing my own shit.

that sounds pretty simple, right?

kpm ©



sometimes when i

can’t string a

sentence together …

no longer feeling

like some kind of


and the thought of

writing ones own

thesis is,


fucking daunting …

and poetry

(as defined by the poetry gods),

seems to far


away …

i’ll line up a ramble,

that looks like


It works



kpm ©


is it?


is it a lie

if you’re just trying

to keep other people


kpm ©


sooooooo …

Todays wondering:

What becomes of

a relationship

based on a lie?

Not big fat lie;

Just a lean, dieting lie.

kpm ©