A Bag Full of Freedom

I wake up chug a cup of water in my reusable Starbuck’s cup

gotta make sure I have enough milk made for  the baby

sniff my pits and decide they smell fresh enough to skip a shower

I put on white leggings and look at my butt in the mirror only to notice

my panties show right through

So I pick a long short from my floral lined basket of folded shirts

I folded them when I was in the mood

I make myself sausage eggs and two pieces of french toast

this time for myself

not for the milk maker

I yell and scream about women’s rights then walk away

to fill another bottle of water

I pump for 20 minutes

put ointment on to prevent getting thrush

or from getting some infection I’d get from open wounds

and then gather Plath, Bukowski, Poe, Rimbaud, and [S.K.] Nicholas

into my bag

I grab my computer pretend to be happy

grab some pens and my keys and head out the door

I could take the Subie but I choose to take the Matrix

which is older and and smellier

so my husband who had the baby had a car seat

and I drive and I think about where I want to eat

and if I even want to eat again

 

-Saschia

 

Little purple person

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Cookies with a Side of Fitness

Sitting here outside the gym eating Milanos. I might finish the bag before I finish this piece. It’s the double dark chocolate flavor. There’s a lesson to be learned here. But I’m sure I already know it. The class starts in ten. There’s two cookies left and I should stop eating them but I probably won’t. I should take this all more seriously I mean my health is a priority as a mother. Ok I’ll leave the last two for tomorrow.

Signed,

A hungry breastfeeding mother

Art

A place where rules can be bent and logic defied

where man is winged and birds speak

this is where I write from

and also from my heart

even when it seems meaningless

it is something

it is a piece of me

and I will continue to leave bread crumbs for myself

because for some reason I think I’ll need them

-Saschia

 

….More at Jayne.Press Writing Like A Writer

 

 

Silly Billy

The words that drift out of me are sometimes a shocker. Who’s that man with the big moon eyes? Who’s that girl with the upside down curls? If there is a time we need to think it’s now, but thinking is entirely too much work so we busy ourselves with tasks. Redundant tasks that require little to think about. Tap a pen tap a tap pour the beer and give a smile because they love the smiles. Rest is something we need but too much is no good we need just the right amount. Google-me-drids is that a thing? Who gets just the right amount? I’m either tired from too much or from not nearly enough. Twinkle-me-timbers my toes are cold or I’d be napping right now.

 

I Feel It

A Home Full of Hope

Hope floats around my house it fogs the windows and clogs the drains but it smells of lemons and roses. And so we just wipe our fogged windows clean…..

Hope floats around my house it fogs the windows and clogs the drains but it smells of lemons and roses. And so we just wipe our fogged windows clean and continue to clear our drains. Because a home without hope is no home at all. We give thanks for todays and pray for our tomorrows. Just one more day, one more word, one more prayer.

-Saschia Johnson

 

More Poetry? Click Click Click

the unwritten character

Grinning she fills her hands with cupcakes and her pockets with candies. There’s no bringing her down. Her head is in the clouds full of happy dreams fed to her from a tv screen. She’s one positive guru with her bad feelings black and charred secretly tucked in the base of her Medulla. Her secrets barbecue her unbecoming. Shhh… she’d say anytime someone mentioned the smoke drifting from her ears. She’d have nothing ruin her day or force her smile the other way….

….to be continued