by on

On the outside of the glass

Aphorisms ringing like a bell

Insensitivity weaves a cobweb

Vulnerability trapped in a

medical syringe

Harshness spoken with a sterile

and violent tongue

Commanding and demanding

Blatant and in bright lights

Waterworks flowing like a creek

Hearts awaken and cringe

An awkward silence creeps

Hoping love seeps through the cracks

seeking a mysterious ocean

by on

Trembling locked lips

underneath the flashing red light

Caution tape torn between

Wicked Lust Lane and Insatiable road

Full force of ripped love

Entangled speeding tickets

Stilettos bright as fire engine red

walking Romeo’s Kiss Boulevard

Seeking infatuation and

burning sensations among the chatter

Sirens storming in the air

Exploring hands twisting

Passing every stop sign

down this riveting and passionate road

by on

Skewed perception

Perhaps off white

layered in complexity

gazing at simplicity

Efficiency is critical

order is a pillar

Labeled and identified

Root causes are visual

Painted problem solver

in tuned sentiments

Unbiased points of view

Visionary eyes of reality

splashes of confidence

covers my creative heart

Willing to care about others

Too sensitive

Small circle of friends

see me as off white

by on

Scolded by police sirens
Fire hydrants craving a drink
Chards of glass from the window
laying on the pavement with anger
Barbers and bartenders exchanging
witty nicotine sarcastic conversations
Mimes and witnesses pleading
the 5th amendment to the scene
Instigators snarl at the defendants
Allegations and half truths spoken like
lawyers in a lions den
Blood stains dry on Dripping Ink Avenue
Desperately screaming to the stop light
The curbside is a destination
for gamblers, burglars, and vendors
staring up at the mustard sun
Faces of debutants and vigilantes
walk past the New York landscape

by on

Stale chips

fallen on a checkered pattern

linoleum floor

Empty pizza boxes

stacked on a granite

counter top

Blaring from the speakers

Duran Duran’s Greatest Hits

Reminiscing of old times

Lost arguments boil

to the rim and simmer down

Recognizing friendships

are made to last unlike

marriages and cars

Green pastures and mountain

eagle like views overtake

your narrow perception

on Coach Road in

the quiet town of 4000 humans

Only the stars become thick

and the air is gold in

the heart of Northern Ireland

by on

I took a sharp turn

down dishonesty lane

and witnessed corruption

I went around the bend

to discover a narrow

jealousy road

After the tunnel I drove

a hundred miles on

a wide open faith road

I took a winding right

on the angry dirt path

I’m only fifty miles

away from Random Avenue

I was told I would see

Dancers, vigilantes, prostitutes,

and painters on the

brittle sidewalk

I would glance up at

shattered windows

and bronze slumbers

I will admit I was terrified

to travel down Random Avenue

and see the invisible scarecrows

Visualizing clenched hands to the

steering wheel feeling

the chaos and poverty

in the brisk air

*Say no to clowns had asked me to use
this title for Challenge

by on

Furious waves are dying. The gentleman in me is fading like a light. You carve out the tension and slowly I am denied. The more you take the less of me you receive.

You are not who you advertised. I remain calm as I construct a devious plan. I hold the wind in my hand. I have a defense. I made sure the world knows. Apocalyptic and cryptic I will speak. Repeating my words is not a option.

You use the word love but don’t show it. You use words you don’t express. The storm in this jungle has elevated to a hurricane. Patience is running thin. You love the image. You love the facade. You don’t love me. Say it. Admit it.

by on

Beneath the clutter

and the discolored anxiety

the war between us continues

Engulfed by the

fractured promises

Gobbled up by the

untamed distance

Dwelling in the dusk

crawling through the

dark wild

Regurgitated phrases

of shades of love

Acknowledging the

hardened suffering

Stomaching the

patronizing goodbyes

Inhaling your desolate

and sinister perfume

Sucking and gulping

your mocking remarks

Withstanding your

arrogance and malicious core

Underneath the deceased

your stigma withers

by on

I will never forget the day I moved back home . I will never forget the sentence that broke my heart. “You will never set the world on fire.” The chip on my shoulder just became bigger. Perhaps he is just a realist. Perhaps he saw his son average. I’m not saying he didn’t know how to love and care. I’m not saying he was a bad father but I would NEVER tell that to my son.

Little boy the message here is that you can be what you want to be. You are going to make choices I probably won’t agree with at the moment but the belief in you won’t disappear. I want to do something that my father didn’t do, just understand you. Please don’t be afraid to open up. I don’t want to be a critical spirit like him and put your thoughts under a microscope. Your father is a writer at heart and doesn’t have support from those who I thought would support. I stand alone. You will never stand alone.

by on

Ribs shook

Teeth chattered

A swig of Alligator Juice

Testing intestinal fortitude

Crying Esophagus

Liquid to soothe the deserted soul

Reviving the hostile lungs

Defining the edges and nerves

Overtaken by the emptiness

As he fills his stomach

with acidic Alligator Juice

by on

I’ve cried

a thousand tears

I’ve walked

a million miles

I’ve bled

mountains of blood

I’ve feared

the darkest tale

I’ve broken

shining hearts

I’ve stolen

innocent kisses

I’ve borrowed

pockets of time

I’ve craved

unconditional love

I’ve needed

shadows of desire

I’ve ached

for the endangered light

I’ve wanted

someone to hear me

I felt his presence

at Hallelujah Crossing

by on

You want but don’t ask

You need but don’t say a word

You expect but bite your tongue

You bitch but you don’t speak

You sigh but you don’t voice

You assume but aren’t direct

You strut but don’t walk

You scream but don’t converse

You talk down to than at

You just don’t get it

You are inside yourself

by on

I’m so fucking mad

About the day I had

She wasn’t glad

That I kissed Chad

I’m so freaking upset

About what I didn’t get

She was part of the bet

By Monday she will forget

I’m so undesirably distraught

About the day I lost

She was happy I got caught

My feelings can’t be bought

I’m so damn pissed

About the day I missed

She was in the A list

By the weekend I cut my wrist

by on

Don’t patronize

Don’t need your wild skies

Don’t want your rabid lies

Don’t wear that disguise

Just say goodbye

Don’t empathize

Don’t need your vibes

Don’t want your shoe size

Don’t sleep open wide

Just say goodbye

Don’t advise

Don’t need your old surprise

Don’t want your supplies

Don’t discard the gold prize

Just say goodbye

Don’t downsize

Don’t want your grey butterflies

Don’t need your mind baptized

Don’t reject the wise

Just say goodbye

by on

Shrugged diluted zest

Watered down affection

Still waiting…

Undiscovered territory

Finger tip formalities

Still waiting…

Nonexistent warmth

Empty terms of endearment

Still waiting…

Through the loop of emotions

Repetition overload

Still waiting…

on you

by on

Second best

Third place

A small unseen ribbon

Just a contestant

Carrying a chip on her shoulder

Tons of weight

Mediocre and average

Never enough

Depressed and lonely

Trying too hard

Desolate and desperate

In every decade

Feelings remain

by on

Brave and powerful!!

Kindra M. Austin's avatar

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 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…

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