And today as I stand in front of the mirror I cannot help notice the changes I have gone through. I look in the mirror every day but today as I stare, I see it. The obvious changes, I know, have not occurred overnight. I don’t laugh and smile like I used to, I see a stranger looking at me from the other side. I know the smile, I know it is yours. I have become you, unconsciously.

And I still remember the day, I saw you. I saw you looking at the sky, trying to open it up and pull down the stars; cajoling the stars to open up before the world. I had an instant feeling of kinship to the stars, they come out when no one is looking at them, then they come out and shine; like them I too had no idea, why I detested daylight…

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“But I Don’t Like Other Women” and Other Immaterial Things

I was blessed with another woman ‘encourager’ just today, stating that going out on a limb shows you just how many skills you may possess that have been underutilized. Kudos to all who encourage. Believe me, I got your back! And to the others, may you succeed as well, if only because the more success, the more there is to share. Thanks for this reminder ‘Damn Girl!!’

Damn, Girl. Get Your Shit Together.

“We are in the business of being women.”

DGGYST has been pretty heavy on the girl power lately. With “The Power of Female Economy“, and “So, You Want a Blogging Tip…“, not to mention the sidebar featuring specifically female bloggers, I have to address something that comes up every time I (or any one else for that matter) discuss supporting female industry. This sentiment:

“But I don’t like other women.”

I notoriously love the women. I was a labrador retriever in my last four lives and just assume everyone is my friend and they want to feed me biscuits.
Not that I haven’t not liked some women. There’ve been a few where I’m like, “You are not my kind of lady. Now give me a biscuit and get the hell out of here, bark bark bark bark bark!” So I respect that you may have…

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You Never Could Help Me With Math

Raw and gorgeous…

Kindra M. Austin


Something happens, and I am reminded that

all of the good words have been taken by the 80s.

I can’t write you a heavy synth song, penned in black kohl;

can’t dip my heart into inderivative hair dye—

there’s no such thing, really.


Something happens, and I am reminded that

I can’t call you.


Something happens, and I am reminded that

I can’t hug you.


Something happens, and I remember that

I’d forgotten to miss you for 5 whole fucking minutes.


There are 300 seconds in 5 fucking minutes, and 3,600 seconds in 1 hour, which means there are 86,400 seconds in 24 hours, or 1,440 fucking minutes in a goddamned day, which means there’s a lot of fucking time spent forgetting to remember that you’re dead.


And I can’t even manage to write you a love song.

(image: slate.com)

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