60s-woman-surrounded-by-champagne.jpg

Hi.

I’m Kindra—alcoholic.

It’s been thirsty seconds since my last drink, and

thirty nine years since my last confession.

I turn forty in December.

I’ve kissed a few girls,

dropped acid

once,

finger fucked myself eleventy hundred times, and

committed adultery with an Englishman

who won’t leave me alone—

my pussy is lined with gold.

I smoke pot with my dad,

who abhors alcohol.

 

Hi.

I’m Kindra.

My mother was an alcoholic.

I don’t know how many times she’d

finger fucked herself, or how many joints

she’d smoked while riding shot-gun with my dad.

I don’t know if she’d ever dropped acid, or how many times

she might’ve wished she could confess to a god who’d

forsaken her.

All I know is that her life isn’t my problem—

I don’t have to make amends on her behalf.

 

My name is Kindra, and I battle against alcoholism.

I understand why I use, and I’m determined to

crush the crutches.

 

I’m determined to live for me.

 

© Kindra M. Austin

(image: The Piano Bar)

 

 

armor-sikelgaita (1)

Thinking about it now, I’m not the least bit

sorry for the hateful shit I’d said to you

eleventy years ago, when I was a kid

and you fucking knew better.

I rescind my apologies.

Not that my sorries ever meant a good

goddamn to you, anyway—

they were ever only as true as your own,

anyway.

Insincerity: a common factor.

 

No, that’s not true…the truth is complex.

 

I wish I hadn’t apologized so much for defending myself

against you.

And I wish you hadn’t rolled over so easily whenever

I called you out. I wish you’d properly raged against

the reasons you were the way you were. Sure,

you’d spoken of the ghosts that breathed inside of you—

warned me of them—but never did you

exorcise them. Never did you make them scream in terror.

 

Not that your armor went unused. You’d fought your best all your life…

 

I am greater than you had ever hoped to be. I’ve welded your chainmail

to my own, and I am running into battle with your heart sewn into my banner.

Mother mine, I know your truths; yours are mine, and I will defend them,

always.

 

I will make your ghosts and mine scream in terror.

 

© Kindra M. Austin

8ca680e31859d0b37f1b1820343990fe

I

I, girl-child

Deconstructed

Mother fix me

In your image

Go for the kill

Words are systematic

Reconstructed

Reassure you

Own my image

Go for the kill

I will be good

Words are systematic

 II

Glitch in the program

I am fifteen, black as rage

Against…

Words are systematic

You lacked my level

And I grew tired

You reeled me back in

Words are systematic

 III

I am good wife

Subservient

Mechanical

Learned behavior

Thanks to you, Mom

Words are systematic

Fuck when he wants

Eat when he wants

Sleep when he wants

Cry when he wants

Run when he wants

Words are systematic

 IV

Daughter, just a babe

Speaks to me the loving truth

And I break my bonds

I break the circle

I break free

See my flamethrower heart

I am mother lioness

I am real LOVE

I am individual

I am woman

I am truth

See my flamethrower heart

 

*artwork titled “Steam Girl,” by Jeff Wall

Thank you, Aurora Phoenix. You are a stunning writer, a fierce warrior, and gorgeous spirit. ❤

warrior woman face up

Yes, I know my place—

and it’s not in the shadows of darkened corners,

slumped over and bleeding, weeping.

It’s not in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant or otherwise.

It’s not in the hospital having bones reset, or split lips stitched.

Yes, I know my place—

push me down, drag me out,

and I will get up on my two feet

because my place is to stand among my Warrior Sisters.

 

I have been out of place

cowering, confused by calamities

conforming, if only for moments

to lessened expectations

I have been out of place

biting my lip

silencing biting retorts

eviscerating commentary

on the lot I was caste

I have been out of place

head shamefully bowed

hiding my brilliant plumage

muffling scintillating wit

lest I overstep, overshadow

narrowly defined confines

 

Shed used skin—toss it away

and open eyes, newborn light.

Hold on heart, the time is now—

cast aside those ropes,

take up your banner.

Riot for your life.

 

it has been said

I am out of line

dare I speak too loudly

of my truths

my place is colored riotous rainbows

outside your compliant lines

it has been said

I am out of line

dare I dance with abandon

in the face of obsolescence

my place is scented midnight jasmine

in the garden where my good

overgrows obsequious evils

 

pexels-photo-339795

I have blood a plenty to share with you, my friend–

to shed for you, my Warrior Sister.

I have two lungs, and I only need one–

the other is yours if you ever lose your breath.

And I have a voice to speak for you, should yours ever grow tired.

For you, I will share my shield.

For you, I will take up arms.

For us all, my war drum heart does beat–

thump-thump, thump-thump…