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N N Johnson Jan 29
--After Aidan Choi "stomach pains"--

I am hungry, not for food for sustenance.

I am hungry for acceptance. Eyes to meet mine and steady instead of nervous twitch. I am hungry for the calories to fill my blood with the sugar of love, the honey of affection; of intentional timing and attention i carry the accidents of my own and his and hers on a back not built for loads and like laundry I cycle and spill and crumple and filth. I linger in the smell of use. I’m comfortable with the stiff because to release is to trust and to trust is to relinquish and this burden must be carried 1 to 3 to thirty three.

Speaking of, time to take my happy pill. Time to keep someone alive. For me but not for you, you don’t have the time to relax with a child and raise it like a lamb for slaughter in the capitalism ranch, you don’t have the house to fill with ghosts from a childhood you aren’t sure is yours though you still have the memories; did it happen did          it         happen.?

I am fearful I might slip again, tearful that I’m here at the park pushing the swing and watching my pendulum get closer and closer to the edge where I’d like to be over, just topple me and I’ll cease to be anyone’s problem though she may have a few arise with a mom she can’t remember who’d rather die than try.

Depression is not romantic. It’s not sadness. it’s not what makes me creative. It’s not a goth girl in bulky headphones who is actually the one who rescues you, my eyes glaze and my teeth chatter when i’m hungry. I’m not here to save you with emotional depth and salty quips.

I’m waiting for this illness to turn me into an artist. Will suicide dreams become easier to hide under rhythmic words and clever rhymes? I’ve found that to be the case. I’m a starving artist who is fat with remorse and binging and watching. I eat with my eyes and everything I see I want to gobble to justify this turkey neck. When you see the art do you remember what’s right and wrong with the artist?

Shoot my guts twisting and i’m still hungry
Maybe it’s time to eat myself
I look in the mirror and unload
I see myself and I feast
N N Johnson Jan 24
Where will I go?
What will I do?--
These are questions
I don’t want answers to

I don’t want plans
And fantasies
I don’t want hidden stashes
Or fake smiles

I don’t want running shoes...
I want staying slippers.
N N Johnson Jan 21
I curtain my lids open but my eyes only take in dust
so much crumbs my pupil hides among the iris

brush my eyes, sweep along my body
beat it clean like a rug and watch debris float into the air

I pollute the room with feeling
watch me sad my way into your heart

and dull my way out of it with equal pace
run, don’t walk toward new content

there’ nothing to see, here
see here
nothing but sea--
hear it crash
N N Johnson Sep 2024
I want my story to be a chapter not a book
And I can’t summon the courage to want
the author to explore my arc

Leave me ragged and unhemmed please
leave me undeveloped

Who wants to live long enough to see
everyone around them suffer, anyways?

I may as well give them something to talk about
something to connect over, something to bring the family together casseroles and black clothes and whispered relief
spoken into lonely evening air

I’m ready to stop ******* my burden
What a lovely escape, what a cowardly end, do I crave.
N N Johnson Sep 2024
I can’t remember the last day
I didn’t hope to die

I drive my car and fantasize
a t-bone collision straight into my side

I’ve prayed for the kind of accident
that would bring a swift end and leave others untouched
My death can’t stand any more collateral damage.

Any more selfishness than the selfishness
already spat into my suicide-obsessed brain

What does it mean to want the shadow on the scan?

I want to want to live
But every tired toss in my bed is a prayer to die

Every unbidden sigh that surprises my lips on the way out
a whisper for release

If only my body could unlearn breathing
If only my heart could unlearn bittersweet

I romanticized my demise into a bouquet
Blossoms of remember how, and, wasn’t she just

I want to want to live
But every left turn I take is a beg

for the brutal period at the end
of an unfinished life sentence that has always felt like a run-on
N N Johnson Sep 2024
I can’t remember the last day
I wanted to reach the end of

I want to end the day
grateful that I survived it

Perhaps surviving won’t even cross my mind

Maybe one day  I won’t be
so focused on cursing my heartbeat
I’ll start to take it for granted

I want to look at the dawning of tomorrow
through an open window instead of through bars

To see an opportunity instead of an expectation

One more day imprisoned in my alive
in a body, in an animal

I don’t want to eye-droop another day
I want to wild-eye my mornings the way
I imagine I might have in a happier childhood

I want to wring every drop of yes out--
exhausting the finest morsels of starlight
before hanging up the towel for night.
N N Johnson Apr 2024
Man or bear? A timely question
In vogue at the moment
And like many assaults, this too
Will pass through people’s minds
More quickly than the memory
Which stays to linger and fester
And pester, creating children
In the brains of victims while
Their friends and family slowly
Forget, they are left to raise the offspring
Of violation, learn to live with them,
Teach them, love them, reach into
Their hearts and unlearn hate and
Shame, cast off the blame of someone
Else’s crime, time will only mend
This wound if tended to routinely
But remember, most everyone else
Will forget seemingly in an instant
Much like this passing joke that isn’t
Really funny at all, a cultural moment
That fades into the background, but
I’m asking that we stay here a bit longer,
And wonder together, bear with me as
We collectively realize that bears are less
Scary to women because at least we aren’t
Questioning if the bear will enjoy our
Pain and then explain how we were
Asking for it, if you’re going to hurt me
I’d rather we were on the same page
About who is receiving the rage of the
Other, man or bear they ask and I can’t
Imagine a bear would try to ****
Me in my sleep, would butter up my
Friends and turn them against me,
Would tell me I was overreacting to
His claws and bites, would
Meet my tears with delight and spite.
I’ll take a roar over laughter any day
If in either case I’m going to pay;
There’s more dignity in the bear’s way.
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