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Lindsay Oct 2017
Finding a lover is effortless
for some people.
They only want a few things:
Someone attractive, kind,
funny or rich.

But
I desire
something so much deeper.

I want

an intelligent mind
that wakes up thoughts in me
I didn't realize were hibernating.

I want

to converse, analyze and debate
without being conscious of
the sun rising and falling
between our words.

I want

to make a witty remark
at a coffee shop
so he can reply sarcastically
just for me to jab back immediately
and for him to comeback back playfully
until we're both laughing
stomachs shaking
spit flying
the whole store staring
and we leave
without coffee

I want

our hands to stitch together
perfectly
like two lost puzzle pieces;
one found under a couch cushion
one found inside a junk drawer.
The rest of the puzzle has
already been thrown away
but
these two pieces remain
and they fit.

I want

to fall in love together
then together fall in love with
art, museums, songs, poems
T.V shows, radio jingles,
greek food, backroads,
our mutual hatred for pop culture,
doing the dishes (as long as he washes and I dry)
wrong turns, piled up laundry, life.
Just fall in love with life.

I want

to hurt with him

I want

to save the world with him

I want

to meet, see, understand
and experience all that is foreign
with him.

I think it will only take us meeting
and it'll only be history and happiness from then on.

It's just a matter of if a love like that could ever be
and if a love like that could ever be for me.
Lindsay May 2017
My Professor told me to leave his class room.
I lifted my bowed head
“Huh?”

"Leave my classroom",
he said.
“I don’t tolerate
tweeting, texting,
snapping, sexting,
in my lectures.
So if you’re going to be on your phone
be on your phone elsewhere.”

I didn’t have the energy to rebuttal
“Professor Hughes, I wasn’t looking at my phone.”
I simply did as I was asked
and left.

Funny how my head was bowed
because I was looking down
at the scars I carved into my wrists
this morning
laying in bed
eyes opened
body still
demons anchoring my chest
feeling pressed into my mattress
mumbling through the paralysis
“I have to go to class today
I can’t skip again”
“But your bed is so warm
and you’re a ******* anyway”
my depression taunted
“If you would have just swallowed that bottle of pills
last night like I told you
we wouldn’t be in this mess”

As I’m walking back to my dorm,
the parallel of last night
and this morning
smacks me like a wooden bat to the back:
Life is like a college class;
you don’t always want to be a part of it,
yet alone participate.
Sometimes just showing up
is all you can muster up that day.
And you might do something or even nothing
and someone who doesn’t like that something or nothing
will come up to you and say,
why don’t you just leave?

And you may not have the energy to disagree.
Lindsay Apr 2017
"What a waste of a face."
A waste
because of my waist.

My waist has been wasted
because of the space my waist
takes up.

The beauty of my features penetrate
but the reality of my body disfigurates
what that man thought I should be.

But,

I am not a waist.

I am not a waste.
By Lindsay Johnson
Lindsay Feb 2017
Standing solid and still
just like the red oak it once was.
I trust it will hold me.
It’s sturdy and reliable.
Like the man who once sat in it.
The man who once held me.

It’s a coffee and cream color with
highlights of gold
and low lights of auburn
and each crack and stain tells  
a story

The Maleficent purple stain
on the back right leg.
a toddler that would grow to be me
running with a PB&J in hand
unaware of my brother's Hot Wheels Derby
taking place beside the table.
All it took was one untied shoelace
and all I remember is a symphony of tiny cars
clinging and clanging
and four year old me
falling face first into the tile
As the PB&J propelled forward
smearing brownish, purple goop.

The crack where your left shoulder
might touch if you leaned back.
I honestly don't even know what it's from.
Maybe an argument that got too heated?
Or simple ware and tear over the years?
I never asked. 
I’ll never know.

This chair brings me both
comfort and pain.
Comfort when I sit after a long day on my feet.
Pain when I walk by and stub my toe unexpectedly.
Comfort when I remember all the times he held me in it.
And pain when I remember he will never hold me again.
By Lindsay Johnson
Lindsay Nov 2014
I'll never forget the moment
I truly felt alive
the day I stood paralyzed
by your Clark Kent eyes.
Lindsay Nov 2014
Hello perfection

My antibiotic and my infection
My poison and my medication
My difference and my correlation

Hello perfection

My sting and my sensation
My peace and my temptation
My dread and my anticipation


Hello.

How will it be done today?

Will you smile a promising smile
followed by a casual “hey”?
Will your eyes sing “give me your body”
while you turn and walk away?
Will I follow where you lead just so you
can lose me along the way?
Not today?

Then how today?

Will your hand subtlety reach for me
and make my heart cry “come to me”?
Just for you to drop it effortlessly
while my spirit dies simultaneously
Pretend you want me…

But not really?

You destroy me.

You don't agree?

You know exactly what you do
You do it because you have to

Because you need that internal power
Every day laying bricks to build your tower

Your ego must be fed
At the expense of my head

At the expense of my unconditional love for you
My un-explainable need for you
My psychological desire for you
My undeniable adoration for you
Everything I have done for you

Everything

I have given you everything

It’s not enough...
You are too ignorantly tough
I fight to chase down your bluff
And now my air is gone; I huff and puff

Don’t you see I’m dying inside?
All the while you’re lying inside

*******- you are worthless of my constant admiration
You play with my emotions like you’re a crooked politician
But I refuse to let you triumph this obscene and sly election
How could I have ever once called you my perfection...

A kiss?

You want a kiss…






Mmmmmm...








Hello perfection.
By Lindsay Johnson
Lindsay Nov 2014
I've never heard a voice speak so weak
yet still puncture my ear.
I've never heard a single word spoken
that enchanted my darkest fear.
hell-fire struck me deep like a dart
as if anacondas were suffocating my heart.
My body turned cold.
as I tried to fathom what I've been told  
horror and regret eat my living flesh whole.
Question after question contradict in my soul.
Acid tears scold my eyes;
reactant to a mind
that is overwhelmed and flooding with doubt.
My anguished internal spirit cries out
  Why…
Why?
Why would he abandon his family like that?
How could he leave us so soon?
What were the thoughts damning his mind
when the gun to his own head, he drew.
By Lindsay Johnson

— The End —