Passionate Seekers

Empty sex, soulless endeavors and failed attempts at trying to find ourselves somewhere buried beneath all the shit we were drowning in. He called me a bitch in front of the kid and I didn’t like that so I reached out and socked him right in the chin. “I don’t need this. Why am I even here?” Only I knew why I was there. He had this freedom my tiny inexperienced little fingers just wanted to grasp and never let go of. Only thing is his freedom came with a price he wasn’t willing to share. The previous day we were all cuddled up watching Nemo. Snacks mingled with kisses. Things were quiet and I told him why I liked him and he told me why he liked me. It’s for reasons I can’t recall because there’s something about toxic relationships that make the good times fade much quicker than the worst. You gotta dig a little deeper to find the nice girl hidden behind the slutty bitch. There was this one time we made dinner together, daughter in high chair, music on, and bare feet tapped against the black and white tiles. We danced and sang terrible lyrics and smiled in fear that tomorrow was nipping at our heels. And it nipped. I tell him he’s useless, he tells me I’m a whore. We go back and forth till the socking happened. Shitty, I know. That may have been one of those nights I lost a handful of pearls on the floor of some other guys bedroom. We just wanted the release, you know. I’m not sure either of us ever got it.

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This Black Lacey Number

 

Saschia Johnson

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Sad

Some whiskey in a glass

I want to drink it but my belly hurts

There’s world issues

And positive thoughts

Out there

But it just hurts to smile

Secrets or not

Quitting is nipping at my heels

Have a drink with me

Let me forget for moment

This up-hill battle

Only i won’t because

How can i with tears in my eyes.

-Saschia Johnson

New England Cafes

not my business

is she black 
no she’s


⊕ white


 

is she loved by any other

than

the one that’s love is pure

?

it holds her down

*it- a woman, not a companion

Because companions required the stuff she didn’t

have to give

she buried them

along with pure love

in a grave

 

*it held her down

while he pounded

while he finished

 

only to call the next|                                                    |morning and ask

 

How’d you like it?

 

She, a business woman

couldn’t say

“me too”

because maybe he
changed maybe she’s

wrong

 

She changed though

no longer

purely loved no longer

a virgin

 

Held down by
strength

Held down by- not

a companion

 

-Saschia Johnson

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Skin Show

 

She is

She’s got magic under her fingertips

waiting to be unleashed

She glances up

and manipulates the entire sea

when she cries

a black hole of sadness warps everything in her path.

When she’s happy as a Daisy the waters recede

which could cause drought for days and days

the pendulum swings from her to I

causing down pours and sunny days

seasons placed in the hands of her feelings

 

-Saschia Johnson

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“This Black Lacy Number”

*Trigger Warning* people-3063217_1280

Looking through her closet she’s feeling like a million bucks. Dragging hanger to hanger to hanger till she finds this little black lacy number he’ll love. She’s been home all day, he’ll know that. The house is clean, and his favorite dinner is cooked and plated in the fridge. It’s late when he gets home but she’s had a great day. She won’t let anything get her down. She read some meme on the internet that said,

“Today’s a new day.”

and it inspired her. He stumbles in the front door and doubt flashes through her like a demon on roller skates. When she forces herself to unfreeze, because she’s made a plan, she walks over to help him to where ever he wants to go. He’s happy to see her,

“Hi baby.” He leans in to kiss her with his lips drenched in drunken saliva.

Maybe this will be a good night. Sitting at the dinner table, he makes the corny jokes she loves and tells her of that one time, when he was young, hanging out with his cousins. How together they built the highest Lego tower ever. He went on

“We used to watch Hook, Hook would always win. It was either that, or Indian In The Cupboard.”

She smiles at him thirsty for more. If she sits quiet and still enough maybe he’ll keep going. He looks up. It’s like it’s the first time he’s seen her all night. And that fog, it’s gone.

“What the fuck are you wearing?”

“I put it on for you. Don’t you like it?” She says. She stands up with her hands on her hips swirling around for him.

“You been hanging out with dudes all day haven’t you. That’s what this shit’s all about.” He trails off in shame.

“What?” She’s caught off guard. “No, I’ve been home all day.”

“Go change, you look like shit,” he demands, “and fix your hair.”  Getting up from the table, he turns his back to her, and places his plate in the sink.

“Are you serious? I did this for you.” Her arms are out palms facing him.

“You’re a fucking whore,” shaking his head, “you didn’t do shit for me.”

She’s defeated much faster than she had planned. She thought she could do better this time, but she goes to grab her pajama pants and t-shirt.

“I did this shit for you,” she yells out at him on her way to the bathroom. Fuck him,” she says to herself. She turns the shower on with a squeak and sits on the toilet seat debating whether she wants to cry, convince him, or just go to sleep. With her still sitting there, he walks into the bathroom and wraps his hands over her collar bones digging his thumbs in.

“I don’t want to see you wearing shit like that again. You wanna show dudes your tits? Huh?

“Ow, you’re hurting me.” She’s trying to hide her pain even while confessing that it hurts.

“You didn’t answer me,” he says. His face in hers, thumbs digging deeper.

She turns her face away and pushes back. “No, I don’t.”

He lets go with a shove making her body slam into the back of the toilet and walks out of the bathroom without shutting the door.

“And watch your language,” he yells from the living room. “I don’t like you talking like that.”

She replaced the lid to the back of the toilet, and slips into the shower for bed.

 

by: Saschia Johnson

 

 

 

Missing You

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It’s a been a year, since you went away

I wish I could have said what I wanted to say

I’m still here, looking for answers to explain

Why you decided, your life couldn’t be the same.

Missing your voice and the look of your face,

Knowing that no one, can take your place.

Certain songs remind me of you,

And your memory will always be true.

-Doreen Schmoegner

Doreen Schmoegner began to write poems at 15 years old.  The writer has poems published as Doreen Hobby at Poetry.com and has written many short stories.  People inspire me to write, is what Doreen says.  A former teacher in college invited me to join a monthly writing group and that was 17 years ago.  Recently, I started an Advanced Fiction Writing group which I call, my intellectual stimulation.

 

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