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Your touch haunts my skin,
a nerve I cannot sever—
dead, but still twitching.

Do you remember playing outside? Tossing me pitches while you stayed to the side. Or maybe the games we’d sit and watch? We both believed the Braves would always be top-notch! These small, genuine moments lost in the space of time are the same ones I replay right before Bedtime.

How about birthdays? You made them the best! Other Grandma is my favorite, I’d declare from my chest. Nobody understands, but I see it so clear. You loved me for me, it still brings me to tears. You were my world and my reason to push, to impress grandma, these guys had to get Crushed!

I’ll never forget the Christmas’s we spent huddled together. To me, being by your side couldn’t be better. Dinner was always a statement, delicious and divine. I’d call dibs on ribs number 2 through 9! The gifts were awesome but never my number 1 reason. Being around your favorite people can thaw your heart from freezing.

Your lessons in manners never went unheard. Always in my heart, every single word. You taught me to be a man and carry myself with pride. I told myself your funeral, would be the only time I cried.

You’d tell me my games were the greatest, and you can’t wait to see them. Increasing my confidence, I’d do anything to beat them. I loved to see you smile and clap when I showed up. It showed me my love meant so, so much to someone.

I carried this confidence even when we were apart. Knowing I had a family to represent, who had been there from the start. With my chest held high, there was none who could phase me. I had the best support group possible, not only to push me but also to accept praise with me. Beginning in youth football, my mindset developed. I was going to be the best, whether they wanted me to or not.

I never believed time would run short. Some day soon, the lord will call you to his court. To 10 year 10-year-old me, my world was falling apart. The pain still lingers deep within my heart. With the time we had left, I made the most. Every March 31st, I raise a toast to the host whom I loved the absolute most.

I vividly remember exactly when time froze. The angels had called, and it was your time to go. I never thought it’d happen so soon. There was so much to show you before you soared past the moon. Unspoken words, but shared through prayer. I’m positive they reached you, the only reason I care.

Mom brought me to the funeral, Dad was waiting outside. I embraced him and told him to smile, Grandma loved us both for a good long while. She saw the best in us and believed with all her heart. It was her world, we were just here playing our part. Our suits were matching black, with flowers in hand. Going to see the women who made both of us men.

A chip on the shoulder is what most people called it. A reminder to be great, from the one who told me first. What separated me from the rest was who brought me up from my worst. A mentality of steel and a will to break any curse.

This carried on throughout my sports career. Always working to improve year by year. They would ask what pushes me, why I show up so early. Because I have a beautiful woman watching up where the gates are pearly. High school was hard without her on the sidelines, but having her in my heart was enough to handle the blindside. From switching schools to moving states, the hardships were tough. Through prayer and belief, I knew I’d be more than enough. Then high school ended, and adulthood had to begin. First stop on my 18th birthday was a chair with a pen. My first tattoo, I knew, had to be something special. The woman I loved the most deserved flowers and rose petals. It was a sacred moment, one that meant everything to me. I finally had something that made me smile whenever it was seen.

Your impact is incredibly hard to put into words. Me and dad sit and talk all through summer. Sharing stories and tales of our journeys together, 2 of grandmas peas in a pod, from the exact same feather. I’ll miss you forever, that never has to be told. I will achieve greatness all for my Beautiful Rose.

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”.