She didn’t just speak — she painted silence into sound.
Each word fell like thunder wrapped in velvet.
That wasn’t a poem.
That was Austacious.”
When the pen bleeds truth and the rhythm heals pain —
you don’t call it pretty.
You call it Austacious.”
Each word fell like thunder wrapped in velvet.
That wasn’t a poem.
That was Austacious.”
When the pen bleeds truth and the rhythm heals pain —
you don’t call it pretty.
You call it Austacious.”
by Found Yourself June 21, 2025
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