I
Depression stills me again,
and I watch with concrete eyes.
Women I never could have been see me
only
as a monument for the otherwise; and I am lonely,
here in this public park.
Pigeons clutch my fingertips and
peck at my nail beds; flecks of red
collect at my feet and I’m reminded of
the first time I bled:
I was fourteen, and afterward, I sang
hymnals for my hymen
while he washed me off his hands;
he, the father of my child.
I loved him, once.
II
Depression stills me.
Men sit in my shadow on a
hot day and eat their meat lunches
while the pigeons peck my nail beds.
Flecks of red collect at my feet, and my feet,
which were meant for gardens,
smell like city dog piss.
III
Depression stills me.
I am no monument, but
a tombstone,
lonely over an empty grave.
Powerfully moving and heartfelt.
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Thank you! ❤
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You are welcome, Kindra. Miss you my friend. Hope all is well with you and stay safe.
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I hope colleges going to teach the generation of poets how to write like you
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Oh my gosh. Thank you! ❤
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Of course!
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Powerful!!
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❤ Thank you friend! ❤
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Reblogged this on cabbagesandkings524 and commented:
Kindra M. Austin – A monument? No
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❤
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