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N N Johnson Oct 2016
I lived within you, now
your blood is in me, and
we both dwell inside our
living memory, of

birthdays and bath times,
lectures and retorts, more
jaws clenched and accumulated
anger we didn't sort--it

was held in our chest, near
our breast, never said, till
we piled on words, hoping
that bottled-up beast we'd find dead

from the weight of false smiles, and
sorry's not spoken, till
mother and daughter becomes
just a title token.

The tenderness falters,
degrading to tolerance,
of sameness and difference, concealing
eye rolls,     sighs,        a wince.

And I want to be close, I
hear it in your voice, but
the bitter hardened case around
my heart makes a choice

to judge and to quip, to
sneer and humiliate,
you but more myself for
the actions I facilitate.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, that
I do not like you right now,
which has more to do with my faults,
because I don't really know how.

Please forgive and be patient,
know it's always on my mind, for
every time I ignore or anger,
remember I love you, I want to be kind.
N N Johnson Apr 2016
I'm screaming in
My chest, my
Breast teeming with
Protest, but no
Sound escapes pressed
Lips, my voice
Isolated itself to
My mind, leaving
Me seething
With anger at
My disability, I
Gift myself with
The handicap of
Politeness, as I
Lay  witness to
My own violation
Without exclamation of
"NO".

And I'll go home
With the blame,
Carrying his shame
Like a scarlet
Letter, it looks
Better on me, see,
I'm a woman, and
Isn't it fitting I
Am simply a man
With the added burden
Of woe, a small
Prefix to separate
Me from my
Genital counterpart.

I'd rather protect
Your comfort than gather
The audacity to
End your hand
Placed on my end,
Down my back
Finding the crack
Between my ***
With prying fingers,
Figures you're
30 years older
Than me, you need
To give young folks
The history that will
Grow us into defeated
Women, glow fading
With our power, if
It weren't for you, why,
We wouldn't know
We're objects for
Your pleasure,  the
Treasure you give,
An education
In humiliation, leading
To a conveniently
Degraded population
Of muted women
Just waiting for this
To happen, and then
Accusing our own
Existence of pretense.
We clearly deserve
Nothing.

Nothing more than a
Free dinner, don't be
A *****, put out!
With your mouth, don't
Be put out with your
Voice, your choice is
Important here,
To be clear, I
Might steer you in
The direction of
Submission, it's
Easier that way.

I hear you call
Me beautiful, like
It's open sesame
To my *****, and
When I don't grant
The access I'm
Simply a broken door,
A ***** to  your
Narrow-minded
Interest of getting
Off, you scoff because
How dare I lead you
On by existing,
Presuming to sit
There and be a "she"
Don't I know how
Much I look like I
Want it?, the touch,
The attention, a spoiled
Brat,
'you can't flat
Out reject me, I'll
Collect my due from
You some other way,
Say, I'll devalue
Your worth, describing
In detail your fault
And failure to be
open-legged to me'

How can I love
This skin I'm in?
When I'm taught it
Doesn't belong to me,
But to a sea of eyes
who despise my voice when
It voices 'NO'.
N N Johnson Jan 2016
How cruel for
time to make her
slip away, further
and further out
of view, but
never from
my memory.

My mind's eye
holds her fast,  though
I can't see her
Anymore.
N N Johnson Sep 2015
The creature inside me
Rears its head

Grabbing hold of my
Veins and arteries
With strong grips
Shaking, tightening

Wringing out my stomach
To 3 sizes smaller
Throttling my neck,
Bouncing on my lungs

Swirling and whisking
my brain to hurricane

And letting the blood,  bile,
And lack of oxygen drizzle
Slowly to marinate my heart
In injury
And confusion and
Dysfunction
And sabotage.
N N Johnson Jul 2015
My forehead is covered
With tectonic plates
That shift and cause
Little mountain
Ranges to erupt
And oh what joy,
These too have oil to be found
In the depths.

But just like oil digging,  it
Takes bloodied
fingers and ***** nails
To get to.
N N Johnson Jul 2015
Tanned hands rest on
White linens made
With blackened fingers
Dark with dry blood and
Dry calluses because it's
Nice to have nice things.

And isn't blindness the most
Beautiful view?
N N Johnson Jul 2015
I am a nothing queen
With sand so deep
It grounds me
To the water floor

I'm here for you
And I forgive you, too
And I hardly know
But begin to see
If you are me

Is that double homicide?

A mass murderer of one.
Just my luck
That offing myself
Can't even be a private
Affair between
Me and my sandbag
feet reaching the
Water floor,  I'm done.

You collateral damage--
It's  more your fault
Than mine
That we should share blood
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