Makers Of Dreams

how bad do you want it

does it drag you outta bed at one am

do you do it even when you know it’s not perfect

and if you don’t

do the demons of regret torture you until you do

would you sacrifice empty dreams to see a childhood one come true

The truth is I’d be ok drifting back into nothing

but this dream it’s got a hold of me

and it’s going to drag me outta bed at one am

and make a fool of me

it will prod me until words bleed from my fingers

because it won’t let me die living on empty dreams

-Saschia

 

My Light

 

 

Elsewhere

The distractions are monstrous

the drive to replace the mask of positivity

and the plague of territorial jealousy

like a jack in the box I never wound

but I love when it rains

and I love when you show your true face

the rugged one

the one you’ve hidden in your arm pit

insisting it be swiped with deodorant

the stink you wish only to release on your death bed

that is the one I wish to see

that is where love lies

-Saschia Johnson

 

Rainy Days

 

Artists

The road winds in a manner

that seems as if I keep walking in circles

but there are very subtle differences

differences only a curious person would notice

like the flowers are a different shade of blue

or the bugs are crawling on their backs rather than their bellies

Makers of art wander on and off this road

collecting things

while others trudge trudge doing the same thing

over and over

Artists do at times get caught in the monotony of it all

because we are one of the others

however our path is different

it is of more depth

less conformity

(which might I add is much harder than it sounds)

Our satchels fill with old cocoons left behind by butterflies,

odd shaped rocks,

and twigs wrapped in twine

left as symbols of where we’ve been

or left to warn of places we dare not tread again

So it may seem as if we are constantly stuck

in the same ole rigamaroe but trust me

We are not.

-Saschia

 

(Yes, I wrote rigamaroe)

 

the unwritten character