You Were Meant to Know the Night Writing Prompt Challenge: Meant For Moonlight/Kindra M. Austin

My Submission to the Brave and Reckless October writing prompt challenge, “You Were Meant to Know the Night.”

Brave and Reckless

Moonlight, ethereal

casts your shadow—flings you up

against tall buildings; stretches your limbs

across sleeping streets. Alien in your own skin,

contemplate conundrums plaguing the races.

You were meant to know the night.

You were meant to count the

stars, and give them all

names.

Travel in Sonata

formula, meant to

know the solitude of

Nocturne—

when Heaven is

 alive silvery

 blue pressed into

black, and

your inner voices

speak the

loudest.

You

are a writer—

mother of children,

maker of gods, and

creator of worlds.

You were meant

to speak your

truths. You

 were meant

to know the

night.


Kindra M. Austin is a member of Sudden Denouement, a curator at Blood into Ink, and a fiction indie author. You can read her poems and prose at https://poemsandparagraphs.wordpress.com/ and find her debut novel at Amazon.com  (Amazon UK).

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Dear Men, This Is Why We’re Tired

Drifting Through

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Emotional labor is unseen. It’s the energy women spend managing other’s feelings and emotions, making people comfortable, or living up to society’s expectations… the barrage of expectations we feel from the time we’re told to be nice and polite while boys are told not to cry. It’s a thing. It’s also a weight carried by some femmes and some men, especially if they’re the main caregiver in the family.

But this is not about that kind of emotional labor.

When I read Cara Delevigne’s account of her harassment at the hands of Harvey Weinstein, I felt every word. When I heard the recording of Ambra Battilana Gutierrez pleading with Harvey Weinstein to let her leave, I felt it in my bones.

In the words these women bravely shared with us, I heard everything they felt. The fear. The confusion. The disbelief. The shame. All of those feelings are a cocktail…

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Fuck Lifetime Movies

Damn Girl, you’re bananas, and brilliant, and I ❤ u.

Damn, Girl. Get Your Shit Together.

You know the ones. They all star this legless bald chick with an IQ of 70 and anorexia whose stepdad beats her but she ends up going to Harvard and winning Miss USA and running a marathon and then goes on to inspire other bald legless anorexics to achieve their dreams.

Does the Lifetime movie channel play in other countries besides America? Cause it’s so fucking “Pull yourself up by your bootstraps” American I could puke…and then make a hot chocolate and grab a box of kleenex and cry, “She’s. So-ooo. Ah…ma..ma..zing!” and then watch it again. Damn you, Lifetime movies!

I swear to God, this is the reason why we are all so crazy: the expectations. They are terrible. TERRIBLE!

This is coming from someone who is practically a walking talking lifetime movie.

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About Me–page not found

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I have written and published eleventy “About Me” pages, only to go back and hit the trash a day later because each one plagued me at night; I’d wake up at bastard o’clock in the morning wondering, Am I really a cunt? All of my blasted attempts to write up a proper biography always seem to come out reading fucking cunty.

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I’ve taken the Funny Lady biography for a spin or twelve. Oh, look at me! I’m a proper Kristen Wiig. More like Kristen Stewart, bitch—which leads to the I’m Awkward and Don’t Know If Anyone Really Likes Me biography. I’ve also written up the Understated Writer biography. I’m a regular Hemmingway over here. That’s a goddamned lie. My favorite was the A&E biography. Kindra was born into one of the most fuckest-uppest families in Michigan, but she never let her parents’ inability to get their shit together drag her down.

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There are a few “About Me” pages on WordPress I’ve read that are poignant, genuine, and absolutely interesting. Perhaps I could employ one of these beautiful people to write my biography for me. Or visit the elementary school and get a kindergartner to do it. I actually like the latter idea better. My biography would read something like:

My name is Kindra. I wrote a book, and now I’m writing another one. I like to write for my blog on WordPress. I like my friends on WordPress. My favorite color is green. But not neon green. I don’t like neon colors. I have Fibromyalgia. Fibromyalgia sucks donkey dick. Mean people suck donkey dicks, too. I like sticking up for people who are being hurt. I make the best homemade pizza in the galaxy. I love my husband. I love my daughter. I love my cat, Melvin. I love my dad, and my mom, and my sister. My sister is having a baby girl later this month. I love babies. I visited England once, and I want to visit again. I also want to go to Scotland and see my kindred spirit, Allane. My dream car is a 1970 AMC Javelin, because unicorns aren’t real, and unicorns are not cars.

The end.

The Floating World

If Stephen’s writing had a mouth, I would make out with every word. ❤

S. K. Nicholas

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The forest and all the animals are in her belly. The trees that tower so high into the sky of which are older than God, they want my seed, but my seed isn’t good enough because I’m just a shadow of something that wasn’t here to begin with. There’s the need within me to bite her shoulder and suck her neck so as to let her know she’s mine and no one else’s, but the older I get, the less everything makes sense, and all I can do is drift further away into a time and place that leaves me in a stasis that just won’t shift. She glistens and shimmers and speaks words of poetry, but I can’t reach her because I’m just a man and that means I’m useless. Nothing makes any sense, and this distance between realities can’t be overcome so I just sit around eating junk…

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Flat Line- 1Wise-Woman

Please visit Whisper and the Roar, and have a look at the stellar writers. 1Wise-Woman…hot damn, this is spectacular. ❤

Whisper and the Roar

Your hatred had a heart beat

Separated from your soul

A lifetime ago

Why eternally unknown

Pervasive pulse

Rampant rhythm

Powered by purity

Found in voiceless vulnerability

Negatives burned in my retina

Anchored acrimony

Breaching bloodstream

Contaminating

Parasite

Tainted tick

Last kiss

Last trick

Vampire bliss

Accrued courage

Hell-bent

Stained survivor

Walk under a ladder

Poisoned dagger

Obsolete dreams

Interrupted screams

Trashed chain letter

Teetering

On edge

Of the thirteenth ledge

Lucky coin

Tossed in a fountain

Ripple effect

The record skips

Nothing lasts forever

A venomous snake

Shedding the skin

You lived in

Séance

Silence

Flat line

Cleansed chaos

Exorcised evil

Turn around

Black cat

Broken mirror

Resurrected reflection

Resolute

Raven eyes

Rise

(Image from Pinterest)


1Wise-Woman : “ I am living, fighting, and thriving with mental illness and chronic disease and a need to express myself. Writing eases some of the weight I carry.” When she isn’t…

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Jesus Died for Somebody’s Sins

What. The. Hell. Did I just read? Christine, I can’t even…this is fantastic. Hey ya’ll, check out Whisper and the Roar.

Whisper and the Roar

Mother Mary

the sinners pray to me

asking me to forgive

their transgressions

their sins

as though I am holy

consecrated by the fire

washed clean in the blood

But Jesus and I never

ran in the same crowd

we didn’t pass a bottle of cheap

schnapps while parked in the Catholic  cemetery

shooting the shit in a rusty Chevy Nova

making out under small town stars

I never found god in the cardboard wafer

placed upon my tongue

by priests with too-tight white collars

who looked down on me

called me illegitimate

offspring of a whore

audacious enough

to marry a divorced Presbyterian

their own vices

alcoholism

adultery

lust

throwing the first stone

gossiped openly about in the parking lot after Mass

do what I say, not as I do hypocrisy

still ringing in my ears as clearly as the amens

and halleluiahs

Don’t come looking to me

for…

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Melvin Cornelius, You’ll Be the Death of Me

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Melvin Cornelius likes when I sing to him. Today, Jim chuckled, and shook his head when I sang You Are So Beautiful to my baby boy.

I said, “You’re lucky I don’t put Melvie in clothes, put him to bed in a crib, and sit him in a highchair at meal times.”

To which Jim replied, “I’m lucky??? You’re lucky. Because I’d have to put you in a home, where you’d be hand fed by nurses. In a highchair. And straitjacket.”

I don’t know where my husband comes up with these ridiculous scenarios.

Once, I said to Nicole (when she still lived at home with us), “Wouldn’t it be creepy as fuck if one day we were minding our own business, and Melvin walked into the room on his hind legs and starting talking to us? I’ll bet he walks around in the middle of the night like a person, while we’re all asleep. He probably walks upright into your bedroom, hops up onto your bed to sleep with you, and you don’t even know it.”

The idea frightened her for some reason. She slept with her bedroom door closed for weeks. Melvin would scratch at her door, and I’d hear, “No, Melvin! Go away!”

There’s nothing diabolical about Melvin. Look at that face!

LOOK AT IT!

He’s my special guy, yes he is. 

I had a nightmare recently. It was a zombie apocalypse, and I was trying to save Melvie from being caught and eaten. For some reason, Dream Kindra thought that hiding him in a cupboard was the best solution. He kept running away! And I kept putting him back in that goddamned cupboard. Seriously, I need to get my shit together. I need a solid plan. Without one, I’ll be the first to go, and it will be because of my cat. Not even (my secret boyfriend) Norman Reedus would be able to save me and Melvin.

I’m a lost fucking cause, I swear.

 

 

 

 

 

Dismember the 5th, 1971

say no to clowns

flow and ebb

lyrics’ webb

unseen scales

empty trails

of light unburst

municipal thirst

for meaningful muse

the clowns left clues

the wrong grave’s exhumed

lazy thinking

drowning/drinking

I’m not down for this up

inflatable cup

no thanks.

You can’t hear

what I’m not saying

unplug your ears

of all your preying

then light the fuse

follow the clues

or not.

Short sentences

are my drop,

they’re not wafting

to your heights…

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¬

Inspired by one of my favourite, satirical sites, Scarfolk Council, from their Facebook page, where every Friday is Friday the 13th.

This was, clearly, a very uncharacteristic (cough) stream of thought…but I had been in the sun for a bit…

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