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