💫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
Jayne.press 