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Louise Johnson Mar 2018
It was in my room,
Surrounded by words written in cherry red lipstick,
Screaming hopelessness in the choppy handwriting all the tortured seem to share;

It was in my room,
With half drawn photos of my mother and a dusty guitar that played memories from the time before and the times in between, like a lullaby that haunted me to sleep;

It was in my room,
With the ceiling stained by tobacco smoke and the smell of depression clinging to the ***** bed sheets;

It was in my room,
With the photos hanging off the wall,
Half-torn from the night of lonely desperation;

It was in my room,
With sheets draped over the curtains,
Hung there in a feeble attempt to pretend the sun didn't exist anymore;

It was in my room,
That my shadow got tired of following me and instead swallowed up my mind,
Where the birds sang me to sleep and the moon gently woke me,
Where a day became a thousand years and after a while even God forgot I was there;

It was in my room,
Where I scrubbed the walls clean and painted the ceiling,
Where I pulled the sheets off the curtains and opened the blinds,
Where I threw out my cherry red lipstick and my ***** bed sheets,
Where I finished the drawing of my mother even though the nose will never turn out quite right,
Where I cleaned the guitar and sang to my soul with a new found reverence,
Where I asked the birds to wake me and the moon to tuck me in,

And after all that was done,
It was where I finally opened the door.
This poem is about the time I spent isolating myself during depression and remnants of that time
Louise Johnson Dec 2017
You always laughed,
when you were with me.
You taught me hatred
was mine alone
I learned to give
'till you were happy,
and in my pain
you found your home.

I remember once you told me,
"I won't always be around".
The relief that flooded through me,
was enough to make a sound.

And now they say you're better,
"Look at what she's done!"
I think they mean your battles,
but all I see are smoking guns.

And I know that you're still in there
Your laughter chills me to the bone,
That heart of ice I can't bear,
and that is why you're all alone.
Louise Johnson Nov 2017
I was sitting on the edge of your hospital bed,
thinking about my mother, your daughter,
and whether the smile she was masking the pain with would falter;
when the jagged rhythm of your breath had altered

I jumped to my feet, and let my mother take my place
as we listened to gasps of breath change the pace.
The nurse said it was normal that you couldn't feel any pain
but it was the sound of your death that I was scared we'd retain

I stood in the corner watching my uncle and mother create a wall with their figures,
as if them looking away would put a hand on the trigger

After 10 minutes your breathing got quiet, so quiet we thought you were gone
Then with the whoosh of your lungs, louder than before, it was like you were saying "so long!"
The silence replaced it, I still stood in the corner and noticed that no one had moved,

As if a moment so final needed it's minute to say goodbye to the body it used.
This is a poem describing the last few minutes of my Grandmother's life. We called her 'Babs' or 'Nanny Babs'  because she was the baby of her family so it has always been her nickname. I wasn't close to her. I loved her but we never got a chance to really know each other until the end of her life so I struggled to find an honest way to write about this moment. It may seem quite distant and unemotional but I respected her greatly and wanted to portray the moment as accurately as I could.

Thank you for taking the time to read my poem for the loved Babs
Louise Johnson Nov 2016
People smile and say I'm magnetic,
that I "draw people in";
They don't understand, though I wish I could tell them.
I wish I could tell them that one day I looked at the sky and saw thousands of stars, and that they were beautiful but all the same until my eyes were drawn into glorious light. A star brighter than any of the others. That my eyes lingered and widened in awe of such a powerful sight. I needed to know more about this incredible star. I learned it's name: Sirius  
I learned that one day Sirius will collapse and become a black hole that will destroy every thing in its path. It will ruin those that are drawn to it with a force so powerful that light will not escape it's grasp.

It's a beautiful star. But, one day it will ruin everything When they tell me I'm magnetic, with smiles and compliments, I yearn to tell them this.  I yearn to warn them of the beautiful and destructive, magnetic star.
Louise Johnson Jul 2013
One time,
not that long ago,
I met a man I'd never known,
He was frail and weak and
had white cheeks,
His name I did not know,
It was snowing
and the air was cold,
My mother told me "don't go out"
I did not do as I was told.
Walking in the snow,
I stumbled by this man,
He was buried deep in the snow,
with a folder in his hand,
His voice was faint but,
at least I could hear,
In his voice he was
calling for help, his voice filled with fear.
I called out saying That i was there.
despite being an unsympathetic person I could help but care.
I got all my strength and pulled him out ,
I didn't stop to mess about.
the final pull was a great success.
he composed himself and said "thank you for you kindness."
Just as I was to turn around I remembered the look in his aged eyes.
Something that took year for me to try and disguise.
The look of sadness to the extreme,
the inside torture the inside scream
So I turned around and found him on a seat,
I sat down, the snow chilled my feet.
I said, " I know you're not happy what is wrong?"
"I haven't seen someone I love in very long.
I came here looking but couldn't find,
You know they never left my mind,
but I guess I'll have to live with my mistake,
But my love for them is not fake."
He turned and left after giving me a smile.
I hadn't cared for someone this much in a very long while.
When I went to leave I turned to my right.
And a snow covered folder caught my sight.
Because soon I realised why he felt so bad ,
this folder had everything about me ,
This man was my dad.
Louise Johnson Feb 2012
Sometimes I wonder,
Foolishly maybe,
How people would feel,
If God were to take me.

Would people cry,
Or even be shocked?
Would my neighbors be sad,
Would their lives be rocked?

Would people come to my funeral,
And mourn with the others?
Would they sit with my friend's,
Relieved but scared mothers?

Speaking of Mothers,
Would I ruin her life?
Would the rest of her days,
Be permanent strife?

And my sisters,
Would they care at all?
Knowing they can't,
Write or call?

Would my friends want to know,
What happened to me?
Or what about,
My whole family?

I don't know what would happen,
Because I'll simply be gone.
But all I ask of them is,
To please stay strong...
I had written this in the depth of my depression. I feel that by putting it out there it might be therapeutic for me...And thank you for taking the time to read this,
Louise Johnson Oct 2011
Thoughts are running through my mind,
Trying to make me look behind,
Why are these thoughts intent on hurting me?
I've become distant from friends and family.
"Why is this?" My thoughts scream in disgrace.
But the smile is still stapled to my face.
Until my thoughts mince the words that I had feared.
I know this now, my thoughts are geared.
They're geared on causing me so much pain.
I can not take much else again.
But as all this is happening in  my head.
I smile like I didn't hear what my mind had said...
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