Writers Workshop

Why am I here

The brick walls swallow my voice as they reach toward the heavens

Why am I here? I ask myself one more time.

To learn to be around writers like me. Well, not like me but also writing.

But we write alone

So alone that we pay money to be around people who understand the solitude writing requires.

We hash out ideas

We walk and ask ourselves how we got here and possibly where are we going with this

The host reminds us that others who’ve attended got published, he flashes their books and moves on.

Maybe that’s why I’m there

To try and figure out what to do next.

Please Exist

There is a reason why you’re here

It’s to read this poem and to realize this poem’s existence would cease without you

It would be silent

A dead silence with the night air stuck in a place that never really existed

It would lack the chaos of us

Trees would fall into oblivion

I would fall into oblivion.

Without you,

there’d be no us

there’d be no poetry

You are the poetry

-Saschia

For You

These words are for you

I can see each one

placed in your palm

as a thoughtful gift

to encourage you

to lift your spirit from the pit

let’s exchange these words

for your heavy load

I’ll keep it short

I just want you to know

You’re something special

Meticulously created from freckle

To freckle

and in between them there’s your smile

It melts my heart

These words are yours and will be here when you need them

or when you feel alone

Sank

Over head he smiles

I only know because I feel his warmth

The alcohol has caused a blur

My madness sinks beneath whiskey slurs

I’m thirsty

I’m hungry

But I’m too intoxicated to fix either

Maybe I should have left the bottle alone

Maybe this is my life and how I want to live it

“Fuck it” I spit

And reach for the bottle

Just one last pour

A sloppy drop wilts into the bottom of the glass

Such a lonely drop

like his smile from the heavens

I sit back

rub my grumbly tummy

And smile from his warmth

-Saschia

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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