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 meContinue reading “Playmate”
Tag Archives: creative writing
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
Pancake Life
The days blend together like pancake mix There’s lumps of sleep here and there But in the end I think my life would be tasty Topped with syrup -Saschia
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
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 risingContinue reading “My Home is Rising”
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The days are spinning over head I get lost And high on the things he said But here I am at 2am Without him snuggled up in my bed -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
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