Lit

A gray cloud of hope escapes my mouth

It swirls around my head and seeps into my curls

“I want to keep it.” I told my husband.

But he didn’t hear me.

The moon shines down and trees pass us by

“I saw two shooting stars.” He states.

But I’m busy trying to smell the hope in my curls

To see the moon

And to admire the trees

Silence becomes us

But our minds, they’re lit up like Christmas trees

-Saschia

Word Preference

Words,

There’s not enough in English

But then again there’s so many it overwhelms me to think of a search

Everyday language is what I go for

Sometimes I wonder if this really is how I speak normally

Other times the flow hits me and my voice pours out from every angle without question

Those are magical times

But when it come to words

I prefer the ones that I use on the regular

There’s always enough of those