You are a poet because of the way in which you document your life.
You are…
You Are
Will write for candy
To find something to say everyday
to find beauty in a fabric covored chair
or a one sided conversation on giving directions
held by strangers
My wedding ring has burned my ring finger
and left a line of blisters
but I keep wearing it because it’s pretty and pink
metaphorically that could mean something
My hair flat and static and my eyes uncrossed
on the up side
This poem has earned me candy
-Saschia Johnson
Dreamers
Don’t let them get you down
I know you probably supported them
and their dreams so much so that you lost yourself
And now that you’re reaching for the stars
it seems they are intentionally avoiding your endeavors
That the support you provided isn’t reciprocated
That’s ok cuz this is your fucking dream
Dream bigger since it’s just you
dream louder and longer
and don’t stop until you have everything you’ve ever wanted
just because they don’t have the courage to support you while you’re learning
doesn’t mean you’ll never be good enough
keep going keep digging
Passionate Seekers
Empty sex, soulless endeavors and failed attempts at trying to find ourselves somewhere buried beneath all the shit we were drowning in. He called me a bitch in front of the kid and I didn’t like that so I reached out and socked him right in the chin. “I don’t need this. Why am I even here?” Only I knew why I was there. He had this freedom my tiny inexperienced little fingers just wanted to grasp and never let go of. Only thing is his freedom came with a price he wasn’t willing to share. The previous day we were all cuddled up watching Nemo. Snacks mingled with kisses. Things were quiet and I told him why I liked him and he told me why he liked me. It’s for reasons I can’t recall because there’s something about toxic relationships that make the good times fade much quicker than the worst. You gotta dig a little deeper to find the nice girl hidden behind the slutty bitch. There was this one time we made dinner together, daughter in high chair, music on, and bare feet tapped against the black and white tiles. We danced and sang terrible lyrics and smiled in fear that tomorrow was nipping at our heels. And it nipped. I tell him he’s useless, he tells me I’m a whore. We go back and forth till the socking happened. Shitty, I know. That may have been one of those nights I lost a handful of pearls on the floor of some other guys bedroom. We just wanted the release, you know. I’m not sure either of us ever got it.
Saschia Johnson
Wrinkled
I’ve stopped using dressers
My clothes are shoved into a trunk
I wear them wrinkled and uncoordinated
But I did my hair and painted my nails
that must balance it out in some way
-Saschia Johnson
Lilies
While the shaded lilies stand rigid
I under the sun thaw
Swaying with the wind
We rooted in the same soil
Drinking in the same nutrients
Me pounded by friction
Withered wilted until again I bloom
-Saschia Johnson
#30 Colorful Walls
I feel so spun up these words taste like wallpaper
The blank walls have turned colorful and talkative
they chatter and I chatter back
-Saschia Johnson
Matters Of Love
The gates of my garden are left open to wanderers
They say I’m too friendly and I shouldn’t be so trusting
and that matters of love are a waste of time
But that just isn’t me
The roses have died and bloomed
dried out
been over watered and pruned too early
But come spring they show their rosey pink cheeks
as if none of those things
ever mattered.
-Saschia Johnson
Jam Jars
There was this world
my escape
but the demand for my attention was too great
fantasies nudged me awake all hours
the picturesque garden and nipping faries
and the words
they poisoned my proper shapes
in such a fantastic way
in a way hope was made toxic
And so I tilled but not for long
my pride got the best of me
for the world was much too fertile
and I confused the growth
for the jars of jam I canned through the winter.
-Saschia Johnson
