You Remind Me

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You are droplets of sunlight in the midst of a rainstorm,

reminding me

the Constant breathes for me

when I am drowning.

 

You are the Roar when my words won’t come—

speaking for me,

reminding me

I am never voiceless.

 

In this world disparaged by the Blight of divisiveness,

you are true Eden,

reverberating the vibrancy of the Righteous.

You remind me to love.

 

For you, I too, will be

Bender of Light,

Queen of this Jungle,

Garden of Peace.

I will remind you to love.

 

© Kindra M. Austin

(image: Richard Peters)

For My Truest of Loves

23

The day was grey-blue, echo of your eyes;

sky filled up with promise of rain,

and we waited for beloved petrichor.

Lemon yellow and speckled black,

a noble friend

clasped

your flaxen strands and flexed its wings.

What dreams did she bring, my darling?

Do you know how often

I dream of the daylight that dances

upon your face?

Formed inside my body, you are

living art,

gusting love from

honest lungs—

you speak your truths.

Honor your heart always, baby girl,

and you’ll always be rewarded with

self-respect.

Live kindly,

and the butterflies

will flock to you,

forever.

Happy Wives Bake Pies

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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)

 

 

For the Love of a Pontiac

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You’re so pretty,

let’s thieve us a car, and go for a spin.

I’d love to get my hands on that body built for sin.

Babe, you must have been sired by the one we

call Satan,

 

What with those doe eyes, and mouth full of Hell.

Bum me a smoke, and please, pray tell

where you’re going, Lover

 

Boy, cos there’s a

Fire-bird, and our two names are written all over

that sweet

mother-fucker,

19-69

to drive

backward in time

enough to see the dawn of Cool.

 

Fuck me in the backseat on your birthday.

 

© Kindra M. Austin

(image: MusclecarFilms.com)

Arbor Brewing Co.

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I had a boyfriend, once,

an artist—

he introduced me to Ray LaMontagne

and Wilco…

he worked at Disney for a while, or so he said.

 

He was an artist, and I was a writer, and

the two of us smashed together.

 

If you read this, Tyler Aaron Travis,

(a name I will remember for forever)

I want to thank you for saying

I’m the best indie writer you’ve ever known.

                                         

And I will never forget our first date at the

Arbor Brewing Company.