People are more comfortable when you live a life similar to their own, but we weren’t put here to make others feel more comfortable. Live loud make em squirm.
Tag: writing
The Shows Over Now
The banquet hall’s empty
Not a single piece of confetti left to prove our existence
Bare floors
Bare walls
A bare heart left in the middle of the room
…
Oops
Next time
Next time
Next time
You don’t need to understand
Right now
-Saschia
Seasons
I sank into a picture perfect fantasy
But now,
The memories are flooding back
The habitual reminders
Of why I stopped fighting
Why I slowly loosened my grip
Why
I let go
I clinched my empty fists
And off went the leaf from my branch
It descended in a less elegant manor than I saw in my dreams
But fell just the same
-Saschia
Glass Jar
Give me a sledge hammer
So I can break free
From this glass jar
-Saschia
Sacred
They try so hard to keep my sanity
They close my knees
with two fingers
From each hand
As if I’m a doll
at a table set for tea.
-Saschia
It Was Good
First thing today, is to figure out how he will love her. He loves her, that isn’t the question. But how would he show her? Yesterday, it was with a small note, I love you handwritten on it that hid underneath her tea cup. A teacup he picked out for her and filled with black tea he steeped the way she likes it. But, today was a new day and another chance to figure out how to love her. He walked to the kitchen and leaned against the counter to think. He looked around at the bills scattered in front of the Keurig and the pile of discarded recyclables by the trash. He takes a deep breath and fear overwhelms his thoughts. That feeling of not being good enough weighs him down. But she needs his love and so he pushes through it. I’ll find something in the living room. Toys surround the perimeter of the room. The plastic, colorful, and imaginative toys lighten his mood. But, his fears whisper the word tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow it will be easier he agrees. And sits in the rocking chair his wife nurses in. It’s an awkward chair, not his first choice, but it was for her. There’s no use in waiting a voice from inside says. He reaches into his pocket for a small notebook he carries around with him at work and goes to his disheveled desk for a pen hidden by months worth of mail to be organized. He walks back to sit in the awkward chair and taps his chin. Eyes shut tight, he writes I love you because you exist and I love that. Those words are embarrassing to him, but he knows she needs to hear it. So he tears the paper from his small notebook and stands up to leave it on her seat. He walks away and turns to look at the note. I should rewrite it. He takes a step. No, no she will like it. It’s good enough.
I Crave
I crave instant gratification and
the lure of feel good meetings
with hollow words.
I want those things too
And sometimes I do indulge.
But it all leads to an empty that aches.
You know,
those scratches you can’t itch
And even though I know this,
I still have to remind myself
those things are empty
and that I’m better off home
creating something of substance
-Saschia
The Night Sky Tells It All
My heart is growing
I can’t hide the truth
It’s breaking free
I can keep quiet but only out of respect to innocent
The fight is still in me
but the direction in which I focus
has narrowed to only my art
my art which is vast
but what matters is
I’m focused
-Saschia
Ruined
The makeup drips down her face
Black tears
There’s more to all this
She knows it
She feels it in her bones
Even though it was wrong
She knows that too
But there was this push much stronger than before
An urge she’s never felt
She wasn’t herself or was she
Is this what being alive feels like?
It comes and goes, that feeling
Alive, is fighting the urge. It’s the torment you feel when you walk away. When he walks away. That is the alive. But, to give in, to go wherever you are pushed, that is no more than a dead leaf in the wind. Stripped from the branches. Stripped from life itself.
This moment you have as a dead leaf is your chance to fall apart, to sink into the soil, and to become part of the regrowth next spring.
You are not ruined
-Saschia