The banquet hall’s empty
Not a single piece of confetti left to prove our existence
Bare floors
Bare walls
A bare heart left in the middle of the room
…
Category: Poetry
Oops
Next time
Next time
Next time
You don’t need to understand
Right now
-Saschia
Seasons
I sank into a picture perfect fantasy
But now,
The memories are flooding back
The habitual reminders
Of why I stopped fighting
Why I slowly loosened my grip
Why
I let go
I clinched my empty fists
And off went the leaf from my branch
It descended in a less elegant manor than I saw in my dreams
But fell just the same
-Saschia
Their Togetherness
Their togetherness relies on
their a push to love awkwardly
It relies on sex and fear
Silence and distance
Those things push them together
It doesn’t rely solely on her
Or solely on him
Not even rules or religion
It’s the bad little things
That make them
Them
-Saschia
Under The Knife
Fear’s shadow lingers in the crack below the door
I keep that door locked
Even though sometimes it swings wide open
I pace by it from time to time
But I don’t even touch the handle
I hate to twiddle my thumbs
While I think up the worst case scenario
I don’t even like to talk about it
But maybe if I share
You’ll see it too
and then
In front of our eyes
The door will disappear
-Saschia
Fear is healthy and normal but it’s not meant to control your entire life.
Let’s Go
Take my hand
here look
my palms are open
Take my hand
to the edge
over the edge
listen
as the glass
shatters
-Saschia
Heirloom
My necklace swings as I bend over to plant some seeds
It swings again when I clean someone’s muddy tracks off the floor
I kinda wanna take it off but it was from my grandmother.
Glass Jar
Give me a sledge hammer
So I can break free
From this glass jar
-Saschia
Sacred
They try so hard to keep my sanity
They close my knees
with two fingers
From each hand
As if I’m a doll
at a table set for tea.
-Saschia
I Crave
I crave instant gratification and
the lure of feel good meetings
with hollow words.
I want those things too
And sometimes I do indulge.
But it all leads to an empty that aches.
You know,
those scratches you can’t itch
And even though I know this,
I still have to remind myself
those things are empty
and that I’m better off home
creating something of substance
-Saschia
