I feel like I wrote him into me
Inside my head
Inside my world
Between my thighs
And in between the lines
Of my poetry
Could this be real
Tag: art
Playmate
I’m sorry you’ve been plucked from your eternal slumber
And brought here to this god-forsaken planet but
I needed a playmate
So play with me
Hop with me
from lillypad to lillypad
Build an army of gingerbread men
Or live in a palace made of one of your favorite things
Please,
Please, play with me
-Sasch
To Selfish Endeavors
The swing
The lift
The shift
The crack in the glass
The battle on the hill
The mind that won’t stay quiet
And the search that will never end
I want you here for selfish reasons
Mostly for your mouth
But partially because you arouse me in ways no one else can
-Sasch
It’s Yours
And at the snap of her fingers
His feelings turned off
Like a switch
The walls shifted
Doors closed
Windows shattered
He didn’t think she was capable of such things
And yet she’d been trying to tell him all along
It wasn’t she that was capable of them
It was him
-Saschia
Anchored
It’s not to me
It’s to the future
It’s to the bottom of the ocean
Next to ship wrecks
And mysterious treasures
From Unwritten to Written
The space between unwritten and written grows and shrinks
The greatest frustration is being shut out
We avoid that like the plague
and we ride the waves that keep us closest to written as long as they exist
-Saschia
Let’s Just Be
The push and pull centered me
I’ve accepted me
I’ve loved me
Even in uncertainty
My arms are open to the things meant for me
My eyes are closed to keep my heart open
I will be
Ok
-Saschia
When I Wake Up
I slept with a man
But now I sleep with
My laptop and my books
It’s not that they’re people
It’s just that this bed
is too large for me
And most nights I fall asleep
In the middle of Reading
or typing
It’s nice to have them there
when I wake up
-Saschia
My Home is Rising
I’m setting my foundation below the surface
Beneath the bulbs
Mingled with tree roots
Over 100 years old
I sit alone and pick and pick
I ride the drunkin boat
And flow in all directions
I wrap myself in gauze
And slip into the silence
I am here
I’m alive
And my home is rising
-Saschia
MAKES An Artist
The scent of dead leaves
And a wind that stings me to the bone
Oh, to be lost
And found in the arms of poetry that makes an artist out of me
-Saschia
