I Breathe Still

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For a minute or more, I was dead as you,

as you were technically dead

before the end was absolute—

before your brain conceded.

For a minute or more, my world was edged in blossoming dark,

engrossing, on the cusp of consent.

Blackbirds congregated, chattered ‘round my head, and

they called dibs on my vital organs—

heart, liver, kidneys, and lungs.

One expressed explicit interest in

my spleen—

keen student of human anatomy,

morbid corvid.

Then a cardinal came with your breath on its wings,

and I breathed.

I just breathed.

I breathe still…

 

© Kindra M. Austin

image: Houston Audubon

 

 

 

Truth: the liquid kind

I listen to Radiohead

when I contemplate killing you—

I want to smash your glass and

get at the inside of your meaning.

Shells tell different truths—

look at me.

See,

I’m right and tight

with my plastic teeth,

and painted eyes that never blink.

We mislead, you and me.

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© Kindra M. Austin

(image: Gifer)

 

 

Head Over Heels

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I’m head over heels,

tied up and strangled

by my entrails—

my insides

excised—

you keep a terrific tongue

unleashed between liar’s teeth

stained with victory and breast milk.

Man-child, I’ve never known a coward

quite like you. Your truth is treachery;

and it fucking guts me.

I’m head over heels

in disgust with you.

 

© Kindra M. Austin

(image: Pinterest)

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.

See Ya’ll in Hell

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Dante’s Inferno

Matthew 7:2 (King James)

For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged:

and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.


I’m not religious, and I don’t fear a god, but I feel like I’ve got a pretty good handle on how people should treat one another.

But I could be wrong. There could be a special level of Hell waiting for me. Because I do judge.

I judge because I have personal high standards–standards so high that I have no tolerance for abuse of any sort.

I judge because I have no tolerance for those who try to get ahead by propagating lies, and target the defenseless.

I don’t give a fuck about creed, color, or race. What I care about is the individual quality of the human spirit.

Period.

 

(image: Pinterest)

 

Feminism is my Realism- Kindra M. Austin & Christine Ray

I can’t believe it’s taken this long to collab with Christine. Her writing is Pristine. ❤

Whisper and the Roar

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I am Organism

Female

Defense Mechanism

Natural

Feminism is my Realism

Because #MeToo, Motherfuckers

I’ve been abused

Been paid less cash

Called a Radical Cunt a

Bleeding Heart Liberal and

Put in my place—

Not my place, but theirs

I’ve been judged by the size of my body and clothes I wear

Been held back by (un)intelligent men and even stupider women

Who mock my Heart and Common Sense—

Slammed by Pseudo-Brain influenced by Meme Culture

I am Organism polluting the Cesspool

Feminism is my Realism

(Kindra M. Austin)

I am Organism

Female

Defense Mechanism

Instinctive

Feminism is my Realism

Because if I had been paid my 80 cents on the dollar

For every time I have been called

Bitch

Dyke

Ball breaker

Since I was 12 years old

I’d be in the damn 1%

Told my whole life

That I am

Too angry

Too emotional

Too loud

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