Happy Wives Bake Pies

53ddc0f8218b91e682c16ac0635a600b--baking-apple-pie-apple-pies.jpg

The

sun

came begging again

at my doorstep; I turned him

away. Got no use for gods at play.

Too much decease has grown me up.

I am weeds, immune to

disease, and I only live

in order to survive.

But to what end?

So questions

Depression,

mine. Depression

is the paparazzi—

always trying to catch

me crazy, display me

for eyes, judgmental.

Mental Health Care

is a one line joke.

I am weeds, and I

fucking choke

behind lips

upturned,

lovely.

 

© Kindra M. Austin

(image: Pinterest)

 

 

19 Comments

  1. My mothers pies were never again for my father hated her baking and she never baked again. Now the years are gone and so both are…. though depression was an ingredient but never to her pies

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Depression
    is the paparazzi—
    always trying to catch
    me crazy, display me
    for eyes, judgmental.
    I know how this is. ❤ It won’t always be this way, I promise. ILY x

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s