Years pass by mouths clamped shut raw meat rotting beneath crisp white sheets A metallic bird squawks Cawing cawing at the window panes but no one let’s him in. -Saschia
Tag Archives: Jayne.press
For me for you
Funny thing about writing is you do it for yourself to feel better hoping it might make somebody else feel too
Tacos
I’ve stuffed myself full of tacos And queso And guacamole with chips Now I feel like a potato And my creativity got Stiffed But the tacos were so good And look I still wrote a poem -Saschia
Symbols- revisited
She asks for symbols while I doodle stars and hearts in blue ink across the top of a blank page Maybe I don’t get it, Professor Maybe I never will I’m on to circles and squares Images of old Egyptian pillars appear containing hieroglyphs with no meaning Evoke the imagination She voicesContinue reading “Symbols- revisited”
We Go On–We All Do
Funny how things work out How people show up And make you proud of who you are Or make you feel less than who you are both people come and go They make impacts They go on with their lives With their red Rose’s or their brass scales And think briefly of you now andContinue reading “We Go On–We All Do”
Ambivalent
I have no side to take Ambivalence is all I’ve ever known Conflicted to the core
Two Baby Girls
She dances while I sleep And hiccups while I binge watch Netflix She’s a part of me One with me Her sister is my closest friend and family. She lights up my life with her smile and makes me feel at home with her presence Two baby girls to hug and love to sing andContinue reading “Two Baby Girls”
Untitled
I give pieces of me Raw and unfiltered I give every night my last thoughts My dreams nightmares and wishes And I worry that I’ll be misunderstood -Saschia
Cloudy
I’m lost in the clouds reality swirls into a blur of colors while Hope flits in and out like a restless cat How do I touch down? Toes wiggling with Two feet on the ground -Saschia
Puddle of Life
Life leaked out my finger tips It was a sloppy puddle of mush leaving only a carcass of skin slabbed on bone Like a chicken on a cheerful walk to the slaughterhouse emptied mindless and tired -Saschia
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