I’ve taken a bite
crisp juice dribbled down
my chin
An answered prayer from the
heavenly hosts
a clasped hand closed tight
like a casket
Banished me
The ground churned toiled
and labor pains shoot up from
my hips flashes of lightening
of memories that survived
the flood
The fruit swallowed left to
decay in my tummy has gifted me
His waves crash
Like an ancient melody
They play my song
They pull me in
I dive and dive
Only to be denied
I sit I cry
I beg and plead
Open up to me
I’m left drenched with a
Mouth full of sea foam
Drowning in an eerie silence
I’ve become a pirate
Forever in love with circling
His seas
-Saschia
She could climb right in the hot dish water
it’s been days since she’s relaxed in a bath
she soaks her hands just a second longer
a crawler wraps around her leg
brings her joy
brings her frustration
“just five more dishes”
wrinkled hand
wrinkled sanity
the crawler lifts a pant leg
“ugh, I need to shave”
soaked hands finagle the pant leg back down
smells like lavender and lemon
tastes like salt and soap
and feels like waiting for a million tomorrows
-Saschia
“Inspiration is the windfall from hard work and focus. Muses are too unreliable to keep on the payroll.”
― Helen Hanson
Ideas are such an interesting thing. They can hit us like a load of bricks. They can grow on us. They can evolve into something completely different. Where do they come from? How do we lose them so easily. How do some stick around more than others?
These are all interesting questions. Over time we’ve attributed our gift of ideas to the muse, but I don’t think that’s right. I think we use our own minds from our own experiences to inspire ourselves. A muse which could be anything, a gust of wind, a spark, a man with few words, is the result of being conscious. So when we give the muse all the credit, it takes away from our own ability to be aware.
Ideas come from within ourselves. We think, and turnover, and observe minute details within our daily lives. We question our characters and when we can’t find the answer we make it up. We recall places and fill in the blanks with our own creativity, intentional or not. As humans….
What is it that I do not say
Mouth slammed shut like my tongue is a trapped mouse
the most important thoughts lead to the ocean
Here’s my hand please see inside me
Look listen
Help me filter through the bullshit
So I can finally say what I want to say
-Saschia
Welcome to the greatest place on earth
where dreams make you come alive
as they twinkle right before your eyes
welcome to the place where anything is possible
the secrets here
rarely spoken out loud
kisses are exchanged
promises are made
and Judas is welcomed
cuz he’s in everyone
but
here’s the catch,
as above so below
Just kidding that’s no catch
Come on! Let’s have fun.
-Saschia Johnson
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
Butterflies are set free from her mouth,
the way none-sense usually is.
You see, she’s the type to speak before she thinks,
a quality others admire most about her.
Thousands of butterflies escaped
and filled the room.
Her mouth hung open.
Not word bounced off the walls,
only thoughts and butterflies.
-Saschia
The gates of her garden are left open to wanderers
They say she’s too friendly and she shouldn’t be so trusting
that matters of love are a waste of time
But that isn’t her
The roses died and bloomed
and dried out
They’ve been over watered,
pruned too early,
and forgotten,
But come spring they show their rosy pink faces
As if all those things
could have destroyed a blooming rose
-Saschia Johnson
Untrustworthy eye
Looks
At my outsides
My integrity unquestioned by me
But the eye what does it think?
My choices, conformed?
No, not conformed
Wait
There’s a blur
A space in which maybe
I’d do things a little different
if the lense did not exist
I make calls
to persuade the lense to look away
