Tome

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My face is lined with volumes you’ve never read; and yet my eyes speak to you? Trust me, they belie what lies beneath my wine cellar. Just ask him, the one who has actually pored over this flesh, and subsequently survived the fire expelled from these lungs. I was not fashioned for the pleasure of man; I am no honeycomb waiting to be tasted, and these eyes of mine are not the bedroom kind. Look harder if you must, but you’ll only leave perplexed. I am not a piece, but an entire book, epic, and you cannot fathom me.

© Kindra M. Austin

(image: Pinterest)

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)

 

 

You Cannot Have Me As You Like (revamp)

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I know,

I know,

I’m such a drag—

sucks you

cannot have me as you like.

 

Menthol ciggie makes my mouth pertty

dirty, but the

whiskey makes my tongue taste like

Sunday morning

sex.

Are you really so disgusted, or just

pissed I make you

flex?

 

So I’m not Lady-like.

I’m Woman-like. And

you’re a fucking drag,

like.

 

Such a fucking drag—

sucks you

cannot have me.

 

© Kindra M. Austin

(image: Pinterest)