Tag Archives: creative writing
Shipwrecked
While I sleep, the sea creeps into my bed I get sea sick and toss and turn begging for land And hot water with lemon I grasp my sheets, my clothes, the bed but the water has no sympathy Finally, with no hope left I reach for hin and shipwreck on an island somewhere… -SaschiaContinue reading “Shipwrecked”
Reviver
Tipped over the rail my stomach cannot contain it’s contents anymore. He’s rubbing my back and telling me I’m doing a great job. I needed him then and there and that’s what I got.
Doors 2-16-2018
Smile, you’re beautiful just the way you are.
I am never going to be who you want me to be but I can assure you, that I am and always will strive to be a little more me. -Saschia Johnson
Skin Show pt 3
III sometimes Once in a blue moon a shed human like me steps behind the scenes With their skin in hand crying begging pleading to be loved And the whole time I was begging and pleading with tears in my eyes Hoping that just one other miserable misfit would shed, step behind the scenes AndContinue reading “Skin Show pt 3”
Skin Show pt 2
II. Behind the scenes, behind the curtain I reach out a hand stitched together with puppets of skin. They roar and laugh and join in in song. What a masterpiece! Pure Genius Continue reading “Skin Show pt 2”
Skin Show
pt1 I see the crevices where my mind has changed route Where the blood has stopped flowing and changed direction To kill off the illusion of rage and hypocrisy There’s a skin shed in the corner of the room no one speaks of it but me Who’s skin is that? Who was left so empty?Continue reading “Skin Show”
Becoming
If one day I could be translucent that wouldn’t change a thing. If one day I gained all the knowledge the entire world possessed it wouldn’t change a thing. If I work to grow everyday I will have changed everything I have in my power to change. I will have changed a thing. -Saschia JohnsonContinue reading “Becoming”
Snapshots
These pieces These snapshots I hope to glimpse on my deathbed His laugh and that face he makes when he’s guilty Her creative remarks And not wanting to be normal Mom’s love poured like the great flood Memories like raindrops Collected in my poetry -Saschia Johnson
Jayne.press 