Category: Uncategorized

Just as music
is space
between
notes

just as my longing
is time
between
your glances

just as yearning
is absence
between
your embrace

mission bells
toll
until
your return

At midnight, the old spoon started whispering rusty words into the dark.

Once, there were walls that believed in straight lines.
They measured backs, wrists, cheekbones.
If you tilted your spine too early or too late,
you failed the shape they demanded.

A screen buzzed quietly,
offering replacements for reflection.
Not truth, but suggestion.
There, shapes bent themselves into praise.

A mouth tried to match those suggestions,
tightening each morning,
pulling at skin like laces on boots
tied by someone else’s hands.

Nothing screamed,
but something recoiled each time a passing glass
refused to tell the same lie twice.

No one knew the eyes were never used.
Just fingers, brushing edges of a face
learned by shape, not sight.

The spoon kept hanging,
crooked and wrong,
yet more honest than the polished panels
the world chose to call beautiful.

In the end,
it was not broken glass that caused harm—
but perfect glass
that never broke at all.

Some days I feel good
Some days I feel as I should

Just Some
Until the mirror shatters my fragile kingdom

Shop ’til I drop
Do you think I can pull off this top?

Spinning, twisting, turning
Every angle leaves me hurting

This should go back on the rack
On me, it looks like a baggy old sack

Some days are fine
Some days things just align

Just Some
Only Some

Comparison is a hard hitter
More so when it’s with my sister

With an abundance of clothes, she would just criticize
“So I’ll grab yours. Because on me, it’s a bit more
oversize”

How can you not be a bit haughty
When you’ve got that tall, volleyball body

Some days I’m proud
Some days I even say it aloud

Just Some
Until reality makes me feel dumb

My strategy is to self deprecate
Hopefully, it will deflect external hate

“You’re just fishing for complements”
Why will no one catch onto all the hints?

I know in this issue, I’m not alone
But the lonely feeling does nothing but drone

Some days I’m confident
Some days things all fit

Just Some
Until a few stairs make my heart drum

I’m squishy here, squishy there
I’m really just squishy everywhere

A bump here, a lump there
Maybe I can cover this up with my hair

“Working out makes you feel better”
But when will the scale show a lower number?

Some days I have energy to move
Some days I really get into a groove

Just Some
Until I’m back to feeling numb

Meals find themselves planned
But after a while, it just gets bland

Media pulls me left and right
But my jeans have been feeling a little tight

Some days I love my features
Some days I want to show them off

Just some
Until people poke fun

“Donate some of those to me”
Sure, I never asked to be a triple D

This covers my cleavage, and that covers my butt
“Man, that outfit really makes you look like a slut”

The neck is too low, the fabric too tight
“Will you please keep those things out of sight?”

“Your body is a temple”
I wish it really was that simple

“Beauty is on the inside”
Maybe this giant shirt will help me hide

We’ll just wash rinse and repeat
A never ending cycle

Just some

But when it’s not those some days,
I feel trapped in my body

Some days I feel good
But some days are
Just Some

He’s done about everything with his hands:
Pick cotton one year, tobacco the next
Load ammunition in one war, clench fists in another
Wash dishes
flip burgers
Cobble shoes with sturdy soles for those fine leather uppers
Sort mail
Carry his first-born baby girl to his mother’s arms
Repair watches, dentures too –
DIY penny pincher
Move hot steel with a 5-lever, 7-ton crane
Install parts, motors, transmissions
Fix a flat, anything to get a car rolling again.

Tools
like
Toys

Weld, dig, cut
Saw the wood
Mortar the bricks
Pour the cement
Size and fit
Pound those nails
Plaster those walls
Paint inside, paint outside
Any kind of plumbing, and wiring –
A house well built.

So much he could do with his hands,
But he never held mine.

After note:
When I read this poem to my father, his only comment was “But I held you in my arms.”

Honore de Balzac said, “A mother who is really a mother, is never free.”
And that lack of freedom is one of the best gifts in the world.

11/20/2021

I met a little boy today
He is about five years old.
I met him in the choir loft
At Fairmount Congregational Church
In Wichita, Kansas.
He had loving parents
Who did all they knew how to do for him.

But there was Sunday when he was sitting
In church with his father
And felt the need to sit on his mother’s lap
And be held—right then!
So he went to the front of the church
Climbed up into the choir loft
And tried to sit on his mother’s lap.

His mother was in the choir
And was understandably embarrassed.
Why are you such an inconvenience?
That’s what he was asked.
You should have known better!
That’s what he was told.
As he was scolded and sent back
To his seat with his father.

That Sunday was 65 years ago,
And the little boy had never left the choir loft
When I met him today.
He was still about 5 years old
And still looking for his mother’s love
And feeling like a great inconvenience
Right now!

From that day to this
He has always feared asking for attention
When seeking love, he expects rejection.
So he usually doesn’t even ask.
And when he asks, he is usually rejected
Because he does it the wrong way.

But what can you expect?
He is only five!
His mother is long gone
And he is now so used to rejection
He accepts it without complaining

As just the way things are supposed to be
Though it still hurts just as much as the first time!

I met that little boy today
He is sitting on my lap right now
And he has a new friend.

Ian Bruce Johnson, November 24, 2024

My world looks at me and never does see.
Some see my treasure and round it hover,
Others see but inconvenience in me.
Most see nobody, life that was never.
I was born only thus to disappear.
Yet my ignorant, secret faults cause pain
When those who once saw me, now, as I fear
See nothing in me, and pleas for mercy vain.
But you, Lord, have forgiven all my stain
When I seek you for grace and peace you hear
You see and remain my greatest lover
Though to the world invisible like me.
But my cries you hear and my relief ordain
A way of safety through my greatest fear
And real to you I will always remain
And you will keep all those we hold dear!
You have made us your treasure forever
Together you have made us ever free
In each other now to you uncover.
I look for your face and all the world I see!

– In memory of Kylee Googe 2004-2024

It’s been a year since you passed away;
The facebook notification reminds me.
I drink vodka neat out of dirty crystal
glass that my mother got 20 years ago.

The fan swirls into my mind and then I see
your mother posting her usual videos, telling
everyone how she misses you and that she
loves her facebook family. I can barely watch.

I gulp the rest of the vodka. I wrap myself
In my pink and teal cover and hide. I throw
My phone across the room and start to sob.
I silent my sobs so my parents dont hear.

“Youre not dead” I repeat to myself. Your
bubblegum pink dress and my cyan dress
Is stained within my memories. I still have
our graduation picture on my wall. I miss us.

I’m sorry I didnt go to the funeral. I watched
from afar; my sadness and anger consumed
me. They layed you to rest in Georgia, I want
to see you now. I think I’m ready to talk to you.

I want to tell you that I loved our friendship. I miss
your laugh, your eyes and your weird sense of humor.
I get my phone and like your moms facebook post.
“Happy birthday Kylee, you would have been 21 today”.

My first memories are of terror, fight or flight
No escape from the pictures in my mind
You burned those flames into that brain
Told me such was my eternal fate
If I was a naughty girl or I didn’t believe
Daddy I was scared to fall asleep

Jesus, he looked just like you
Brown beard, eyes so blue
Loved me so much he died you said
But the face of God was always dark instead
The book you pressed in my little hands
Was full of the evil of Jesus’ dad

In my dreams I drowned in the flood pounding on the ark
My Daddy sold me for an ox and cart
Then there was the time he handed me over to be raped
Put my brother on the altar and burned me at the stake

Because my God was a character of old
A product of a place where daughters were sold
My Jesus was one of the trending saviors
These figures flawed and typical I’d discover later
But as a child the fear of God was real
Love for him an emotion I fought to feel

I didn’t want to worship that monster Mama
But I tried to love him so hard because you said I just gotta
Said someday I would understand his tough love
Said dynamics are different after the sacrifice of his son
But Mama I hold a grudge

What kind of a god treats his children so badly
You’d never hurt me like that right Daddy?
But they saw sin in my soul somehow

Raised the rod of correction to drive it out
Handed me the Hell handed to them
Handed me the hammer that drove the nails in
And then I committed my gravest sin

I’m not sorry I couldn’t keep the faith of my father
But Daddy I’m no prodigal daughter
I wish I could tell you I ain’t ever coming back
The doctrine you drilled in was so far from fact
The lies of that religion caused me great pain
It made a mess of a malleable little brain

Mama I know it was all in the good faith
You carried unquestionably to your grave
I know I said I’d see you up there but I lied
I don’t want to skip down streets of gold at your side
Mama I watched you suffer all your life
An insult to be granted mercy in the afterlife
You deserve better than gold for your grace
And I know you’re there if there’s really a good place

I imagine you there, in autumn leaves and thin air
Watching me, loving me, no longer scared
Of the god you wanted us to love so much
Oh Mama how silly that was

I guess we do the best with what we know
And Daddy I just want to learn and grow
I wish I could tell you there’s peace outside of faith
And it’s not anger that pushed God from my plate
Though I’ll always harbor a certain hate
For that fictional character that once sealed my fate

I know you wish I could sit beside you at church
You just don’t understand why I’m so hurt
You’ve internalized that guilt and shame
Don’t get why I’m not OK with doing the same

But Daddy I didn’t crucify Christ
Or belong to some ancient Israelite tribe
You might believe in the grafted to the vine thing
But really you’re the son of Vikings
Your wish for me is faith father
I lie lightly like a dutiful daughter

We as people in this life
are affected by our fear of death.

Not death itself,
but our thoughts,
our assumptions,
our feelings,
the perception of ourselves.

We fear life itself—
that is the cause of our death.
Your death.
Soon to be mine.

However,
the more specific causes of death—
if I were to list them—
are living,
fearing,
breathing,
all at the same time.

Not the cliché—
catching illness,
dying of old age,
murder,
or accidental, grotesque ways.

Simply being actively alive,
allowing yourself to still experience
your way of living—
that is the cause of your death.

How you choose to live your life
is what kills you.

Ironic.

Inescapable.

Your fear of living this life
in the most profound, meaningful way
is the reason you’ll die.

Your fear of being human—
making mistakes,
crying, appearing weak,
looking stupid for chasing hopeless dreams,
living in every moment.

Your cause of death is you—
your own hands,
your own mind,
your wants, needs, and thoughts.

Your heart,
your brain,
your soul—
what kills you.

Not the unexpected.
Not the uncontrollable.
But you.

You are the cause of your death.

Let that be physical,
spiritual,
emotional,
or mental.

You kill yourself.
We all are the cause of our deaths—
even others’ deaths.

It’s just a question of how you’d like
to kill yourself during this life.

And if you’re willing
to sacrifice happiness doing it—
or experience failure in doing so.

So,
How will you kill yourself?
What will be your cause of death?