today was ..

TW : some morbid/ish bs .. .. ..
today was .. dizzying.
dreamt bout grandad again last night. that’s twice in 1 week. but no more than half a dozen in the last 14ish years.

‘sitting with it’ ..

( really gotta find an alternative name to that phrase .. I don’t like it .. like , journey and moving forward  lawd strike me down now ..

Anyways .. digression )

& I dunno if the moon is in your anus or if the planets are in digital alignment at the minute. but shit is def weird af.

anyway ..
grandad was making plum sauce .. in my dream. @ the old house. the one he built.

the one he built with the trade that he was ‘given’ after returning from world war fucking 2. he chose a trade .. not land.

the house where I felt the most love.
the house where I experienced on my lil & growing body and soul,  mongrelised depths of depravity.
the house where the smell of bacon & tomatoes meant going to work & love.
the house where the stench of bodily excrements & boiling opium, stuck to the walls.

how can all that coexist in one place.

i spose it has, in me.

screaming & smiling.
smiling & screaming.

the most protection experienced & the most vulnerability exploited .. all in one place.
i suspect .. because he’s not talking to me .. this is grandad’s way of being near me.
his way of protecting.
his silent, slightly traumatised, way of holding onto my insides while they crumble.

making plum sauce for us .. was an act of love on so many levels.

I miss him.

errr hm ..

what a pleasant lil place it must be, to be in a space,
where you ain’t never required, to clean up,
the mess, you made.
yup. the comma’s are in the right fkn place.

yo welcome 😊


been a minute &

created a climate of chaos.
so you lookin like the save.i.our.
you the catalyst.
you the In.stigator.
you the Fire starter.
put out yo own fire.
#bnw #bs
#artistic  #intersectional #linguistical



artistic & intersectional linguistical tutu & truth seeker.i am.

page break


chilling & recalibrating.


do the same.


.. . . the end.

for now.

thankyou, heaps, for every little word, smile & encouragement. for being yous & fucking with me.

love yahs for it.

head up, shoulders back.

breathe deep.

& don’t let the fuckers get to yah.

see you on the flip sides.


final deep shit thoughts , re me & twenty motherfucking twenty one Hun

i think I’m still after a feeling .. Safety.
in my body, skin.
i’m not sure what that ‘looks’ like until I see it.
the thing that makes me feel the most at ease, is .. simplicity .. in all senses of the word.
is the world an unsafe place for a little girl.
for a half grown girl.
for a half ass grown woman.
for a womxn.
for a brown woamn.
Is it.
Is it really.
At all.
All she needed was protection.
To feel safe.
The child didn’t feel protected.
The child wasn’t protected.
The child had to protect itself.
It’s still frozen in one place waiting for shit to make sense.
Waiting for grown ups to do something, grown up.
Manage themsleves.
And protect those that are vulnerable.
They’re vulnerable.
And as ungrown up as the child standing next to them, watching them implode and explode.
In the meantime .. we tryna grow our own selves up.



final thoughts : intersections @ ’21

see, when you’ve completely exiled and ostracised a whole set of people, and then expect them to give a fuck about the health of the collective .. the exiled do not give a shit.

it’s not just that the crown has done absolutely nothing to honour te tiriti. but they have, as a collective, set out to annihilate Us from 1840 onwards.

legislation, destabilisation, imprisonment, land grabs, assimilation etc .. the recipe hasn’t changed.

they push hard to appear like they give a shit about your brown ass, & mandate the fuck out of shit we were already locked out of & a shitload of us don’t give a fuck about ..

but they’re the shiestiest fuckers on the planet nek to those phallus riding bullshitters.



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,
at home.
pre white.
pre invasion.
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.



.. .. & 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.

#whakatahe #babyloss



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.



& 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.



& i waited ..

having exercised my right to say NO.

i felt the fear rise instantly.

then i felt his soft hand tight on the back of my neck.
it wound it’s fingers round my hair, anchoring me in place.

i grabbed the stroller with my free hand, the other grabbed the back of the anchored hand which had started dragging me, the stroller & my baby, down the road.

2 long streets toward home.

half stumbling.
half gaining momentum.

it was a long enough drag to know there was gonna be damage done at the finish line.

It would be me.
or my baby.
that’s what i thought.

how did i get here.
in a place where this was the choice.

& as i caught a half sight of baby in the stroller, i marvelled at how peacefully she slept.

i steadied the stroller.

the dragging got heavier & lower, making it harder to keep the stroller on all it’s wheels, as we got to the driveway of home.

well, what was supposed to be home anyway.

i started purposefully crying.

it was a distraction.

as he rose in height, feeling powerful in all his mightiness at what he in all his colonised glory, was accomplishing, he didn’t notice me swing the stroller round 360 & set it down in the opposite room to the kitchen.

shutting the door behind.

i took a deep breath.

as he lowered his now solid fist to the side of
my face,
my neck,
my back,
my shoulders ..
i rose my arms up.

i had stopped crying.

& i waited.

waited for him to finish.
he’d get bored soon.
or hungry.
or thirsty.
& he’d make a dramatic exit.

but my girl would wake soon.

lord, don’t let her wake now.
don’t let her cry now.

& wondering.
why noone came out of their pretty houses.
why noone came to the door.
why noone.

& i waited.
& waited.


unfortunate chain of events , nei …


they aren’t talking,

cos it’s an unwelcome

uncomfortable truth.

& for some,

it’s just way more profitable that we stay killing ourselves & our own.

[ surely not you say ..]

[but .. yes ..]

it’s about more than talking.

it’s about patriarchy,




intergenerational trauma ..

mash all that up with a tonne of booze & a pandemic

and tadah.

if we can completely change a societies structure in just over a year,

to include tracing people,


and households,

for the betterment of ‘communities’,

then we should have sorted the Domestic Violence shit storm years ago.



But we haven’t.

why not?

go back to the top.


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.
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.


Ae, that’s it

It’s grief
Deep ass grief
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



is ..

My tears are thick
My body, irritated.
Muscles, they ache.
My chest is heaviness.
Down to under my ribs, it heaves.
But silently.
My stomach knots.
Tight, like my fists.
My thighs.
My calves.
All recoiled.

And that is it’s existence.

Trying to be gentle with myself, is like ..

A bad fucken joke.


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.
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?
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.



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.