Forest Baby

Branches slap her skin

She runs through the place

Like it’s her own

She’s lost but she just keeps going

Webs tickle her nose

And a thousand baby spiders crawl under her clothes

She’s a forest baby This is her home

-Saschia Johnson

 

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Been working on editing my collection of poetry and figuring out the best way to promote and sell it. Very exciting and very stressful. Definitely learning a lot. yay!

 

My Fairy

There’s a fairy who guards my heart

speaks to me through the quill

She sees what my heart wants

And can sometimes take over

This space doesn’t fit the both of us

She wants things I’d never

And I she’d never

You can imagine the struggle we have

Sharing this vessel

Her smile is sly and makes me feel cute

And her eyes

those look up when my chin’s down

She’s feisty

and rampage is her middle name

I kicked her right out one morning

She had me out drinking

Shots of Crown and mixed it with,

 

I don’t even remember

She kissed boys and told them all my secrets

So I told her she’s no longer welcomed

She cried and cried

Then I did too

But I was serious

she had to go

I held my lip and I held my ground

She left lightly a closing door the only sound

 

A draft came in the window

what happened next was unbelievable

Goose bumps lined my arms and legs

And a cold ache seeped from my bones

My legs started to chatter

And then my teeth

I climbed into bed and just couldn’t leave

The skin on my bones went saggy and wrinkled

My mind became a black hole

all things got

Sucked into

and never returned

My cheeks went hollow

and my pupils grew tiny

I had lost so much energy

I couldn’t even beg her to come back to me

 

but she came back all on her own

She fed me bathed me

and coaxed me out of bed

Slowly the black hole dissolved

Till it was as if she’d never left

and now we’re here doing nothing

but writing  our co-existence into life.

-Saschia Johnson

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Too much snow

There’s too much snow

It’s to my knees

and everything I need

is hidden below

I have to plant seeds,

side the house

and these gutters

won’t clean themselves

My days are spent salting and shoveling.

Cringing from the snow

that fell in my boot

I liked it in the beginning

I liked it during winter

but now

it’s just too much.

-Saschia Johnson

Someone do a spring dance please. I don’t one but I’m willing to learn.

 

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Edgy fashion editorial collages by Stephanie Lopes Simoes

omgoodness fabulous! I love Modern Art

Aesthesia Mag's avatarAesthesiaMag

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on Behance and Instagram

Stephanie Lopes Simoes is a graphic designer from South Africa, now living and working in Antwerp, Belgium. Stephanie’s main focus lies on creating collage illustrations from fashion editorial photography. Her work keeps the editorial feel from the original photograph, yet by adding layers of paint, ink and texture Stephanie gives the photos a new life and an edge. The models in her pieces turn from a pretty face into a mysterious, edgy beings: pieces of modern art.

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Bubble Bath

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The tub is full and the bubbles bobble on top

My legs have adjusted

but when the rest of me sinks in

it burns.

In the tub, I’m a lost soul

venturing from the heavens to a five star hotel

It is there I’m considered a holy whore with no divine gifts

My words

they float in front of me popping the suds

And here I soak

without a clue and nothing to give

Here I sink

soggy as a sponge in the pits of the ocean

 

-Saschia Johnson

 

Enough

How dare you dangle flesh and blood

from the edge of your thumb,

like she’s some sort of hangnail

you’re dying to get rid of.

Like she’s some sort of inconvenience.

You can pull the wool over her eyes

but I see your wicked ways.

The secrets you’ve tucked behind your eyelids.

Those ones that haunt you while you sleep.

They’ve been gifted to me

and now

your lies will spread like the plagues of Egypt.

-Saschia Johnsonwoman-2579513_1280

Intellect

The words to save me are trapped inside my lungs. Yes, I have them, but my lack of intellect has shoved them into place. It’s not the intellect itself that I lack it’s the motivation to use it. Words words words they’re art. They’ve got meaning even without intellect. See. Who needs to think.

-Saschia Johnson

 

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