Kindra M. Austin/Poems & Paragraphs
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,
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.
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
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…
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