A place where you can be human.
Lift the scissors ✂️
snip the string ✂️
place a layer of salt ✂️
on the rim ✂️
This is immortal ✂️
everlasting ✂️
and there’s a million ways to break free ✂️
See what you see ✂️
feel what you feel ✂️
and drift somewhere ✂️
between awake and asleep. ✂️
-Saschia 💫Jayne💫 Johnson
💫A Poem💫
Forgotten words
haunt me in silence
through the night.
Discarded connections
with my inner artist
interrupt the sacred flow
that binds us.
-Saschia ✨Jayne✨ Johnson
✨A Poem✨
Count me in 🫱🏾🫲🏾
for the real raw conversations. 🫱🏾🫲🏾
Count me in for the deep connections 🫱🏾🫲🏾
that take us just a tad deeper than yesterday. 🫱🏾🫲🏾
Take my hand and dive deep into the sea of 🫱🏾🫲🏾
consciousness with me. 🫱🏾🫲🏾
I’ll be there 🫱🏾🫲🏾
the best way I know how to be 🫱🏾🫲🏾
alive, a little drunk, and madly in love 🫱🏾🫲🏾
with this process. 🫱🏾🫲🏾
-Saschia 💫Jayne💫 Johnson
💫A Poem💫
Sticky skin 🎵
soaked in fine perfumes 🎵
and shirts stuck with 🎵
wide eyed Oriental beetles 🎵
The night isn’t quite right until 🎵
the misfit musician strums the day away 🎵
while I tip tap a spoon on 🎵
my Crème Brûlée. 🎵
-Saschia ✨Jayne✨ Johnson
💫A Poem💫
The steps move towards me in a way that if I turned around and stepped in rhythm, I wouldn’t move forward
even an inch.
The walls don’t close in, but they stick to you the way sex does
even when you wash up afterwards.
My only escapes are baptism and this forsaken craft.
They’ve kept me afloat all these lonesome years.
My craft includes all the lovers and discord between them. It includes sleepy mornings and strange things to bite into.
Sometimes it’s him.
Other times it’s the behaviors of a self-confined woman whom I have no animosity toward, just a desire to liberate.
And as the day wanes when I lick my lips and they taste of salt, I know it’s time to write because writing
doesn’t make me sweat.
It holds still as the world moves forward.
-Saschia 💫Jayne💫 Johnson
💫A Poem💫
Your words, 👄
they can rage the ancient seas 👄
or sink to the depths of a soul. 👄
Let them find you 👄
in the candle light 👄
with a thirst that can only be quenched 👄
by what you hold 👄
like dogs seeking refuge. 👄
That divine voice 👄
a virtue 👄
if you learned to value your wisdom 👄
the way you value your tongue. 👄
-Saschia ✨Jayne✨ Johnson
Featured Image Painting: Caspar David Friedrich 1808–10 Oil-on-canvas Alte Nationalgalerie, Berlin
💫A Poem💫
One petal 🌹
on a bush full of blooms 🌹
unfolds at its own time. 🌹
-Saschia ✨Jayne✨ Johnson
✨A Poem✨
A finger drag 👆🏽
down the isle of books. 📔
Some people like slime.
I like the smell of books and 📔
the thump between each one 📔
The way the plastic crinkles. 📔
The way my fingers slides across some without a sound. 📔
What gets me going the most, 📔
is that each one holds the seed of a universe 📔
in bloom 📔
It’s like walking through space. 📔
-Saschia 💫Jayne💫 Johnson
✨A Poem✨
The push and pull
the hush
A will to live
comfortably in these walls
The constant change and
predictability
A few tears maybe more
A life led with hope
a sleep slept with peace
Is this what it means
to have lived?
Saschia 💫Jayne💫 Johnson
✨A Poem✨
I gifted two flies a leftover cob
and covered all the food with
paper plates.
The family played the way they each do
and I got a front row seat
to it all.
Saschia 💫Jayne💫 Johnson
Jayne.press