So Don't Cry

All My Loving, I'll Send to You

I officially love you. This isn’t a new discovery, or anything to marvel over really. It’s just a fact that is—something simple, something easy, something honest. We all know how much I love honesty. I can’t deny it. The truth is apparently my best friend, sitting comfortably on my lips. I won’t lie if you ask me this question, I won’t tell you something to make it better, or disguise how I’m feeling right now. I wear my secrets sewn snugly into my sleeve, resting atop my wrist, waiting for you to see them.
So I love you, for everything I’ve seen and everything I know. And it’s been hard to keep it quiet with my honest mouth on fire. I’ve called and written and sent you all the notes I can write with trembling fingers. When you don’t respond, I’ll try again, too afraid to give up.
I love you; it’s easy, now that I know how perfect it is to do so. I love you, from the moment I let myself, in that instant sort of love you kind of way. Your charms are enough to pull me in, and I’m pulled. And even when we move through phases of insecurities and moments of uncertainties, I won’t stop—I can’t stop, you’ve tangled me around your finger, and I can’t let go. I love you, despite it, this unfailing, foolish love. Unwavering, and sometimes unwanted. No matter what you do, however you act, I will love you still. I will fight for your happiness, I will fight for our love, but I will not fight you.
Love like this has left me before, broken and silenced by those who refuse to accept it. But nevertheless I love. What has happened to me that I can find it, unwavering inside of a heart so broken the bloods spilled on the floor, what has caused me to see the best in the people who tend to hurt me the most? What has allowed me to allow myself the pain, to let go of the fear, and love despite the sadness I’ll eventually endure? I know on some level you don’t love me, not the way that I do. I need you more than you will ever need someone’s love like mine. I know someday you will leave me, hanging on words I pray you don’t mean, but maybe you always will. I know this and yet, despite my mind’s warning, I put my heart on my sleeve, next to my secrets, waiting for you to see it. Waiting for you to take it. Waiting for you to break it. Hand it back with all the pieces, please, and leave me the needle and thread.
I love you, in these moments still, when I know someday I’ll miss your loving the way I’ll miss my ability to.

December 9, 2007
Author's Note: for everyone I love this unconditional, foolish, uncontrollable love--my friends and more.;)

You'll Be the Only One to Make Them Go Away

I Want to Change the World

"It was just a man with something to prove--"

My favorite mug is the red one.
My favorite shirt the long-sleeved one.
My favorite person is an idea,
a theory, an interpretation.
Everybody is waiting for a cure
for something nobody really has yet.
Everybody is working toward the moment
when they can make themselves proud.
What is it we’re looking for if we’re looking f
or something? What is it we’re hoping for,
since we’re all hoping for something?

I’m dying to make something of these moments,
wrapped in blankets and ideas,
sipping cold coffee
too anxious to do something
about the taste.
New ideas don’t form in my head,
they’re all repetitions of the ones I’ve had.
Being unsuccessful in my plans to merge them,
being for the benefit of keeping myself alive,
keeping my mind in tune to what is happening
in my world—the places I wander when I’m out
of my mind—being for the sake of saving
my ambitions, I repeat the plans I’ve made,
over again, until they are concrete in theory
and abundant in imagination.
The coffee just gets colder,
the blanket just warmer,
the dogs still bark and planes fly over.
I’ve still made nothing of this moment.

My favorite animal: a turtle.
My favorite dream: a city.
My favorite idea: a person.
Still just a person.

"--slightly bored and severely confused."

Instead I Sleep

Be Gentle with Me

"I fought the war, I fought the war, I fought the war but the war won."

Everything has become political, everything a battle of wits and attrition—whose theory, whose idea, whose belief can out last the others. Who can win the war? The idea is either to be universal or conflicting. I am unsure which. Both have been used, both are excuses, one for the other. Either way, don’t all ideas strive to be utopian in product? All I can see are angry people, angry and striving for peace. Except that human nature is to be at odds. From experience, anger doesn’t generate pleasant utopian societies. Anger produces anger, fire fueling fire. And they say to fight the fires of opposition with yet more fire. But fire doesn’t defeat fire, two of the same does not water make. Fire fighting fire yields all the more fire. In that regard, fire is the all-consumer, its main consumption thought. How can this yield peace? Humans must just be creatures of self-destruction. Pyromaniacs—all of us. Doesn’t anyone believe in water? Isn’t anyone tired of the heat? Hasn’t anyone been burnt? Maybe we can’t notice the pain, too distracted with the display of flames. Not necessarily beautiful, but captivating nonetheless. We always did enjoy watching our fellow man fall. Or, burn, I suppose, as the case may be.

“Stop for the love of God.”
December 4, 2007
'Cause My Heart Gets Broken So Easily.

We Push and Pull

Rachel is Enough Already. It's Boring.

I spend my life writing odes to new beginnings. Handing out glory and sense of self and gratification. Everything is a pledge, everything is a devotional, everything for the purpose of self proposition. I’m tired of planning, I’m tired of pledging, I’m tired of advice and inspiration, I’m tired of attempting to force motivation through words. I’m tired of listening to myself speak, pushing myself forward; repairing what damage has been done. And why does it all have to be so cliché?
Am I self-destructive or stitching up old wounds? Or am I simply neither. Somewhere in between. Cutting open the sutures and pulling the flesh back together with strings coated in motivational, inspirational, self-propelling words.
Have I stitched the holes closed, or have I left them in my heart; am I still bleeding?
When something rips, it leaves a hole. But when it falls apart all together, you can somehow rework it, put it back together, so that no holes show through. It’s still broken, still tattered, still technically in pieces. But the holes are missing, filled in, shut by two busted portions stitched together again.
If I’m taking the time to write out all the things I say in my head, all the ways I’ll fix my heart, all the ways I pull my life back together—if I’m bothering to repeat myself on a daily basis, am I really suturing the wounds, or am I holding the bloody pieces, searching for my string? Or am I simply reversing all the work I’ve done, cutting and stitching, slicing and sewing. Each line over, each stitch altered, each suture becoming straighter and smaller with each pass of the needle. Each scar bleeding, healing, scaring again.

December 3, 2005
And I Fall Down Sometimes

All I Want is a Heart

New rooms—unfamiliar;
and faces to match people to.
New ideas that fill the dents
in the road like puddles to plow through.
All the old things are growing
dark, like memories, faded around the edges.
And all the new things are piling up
on top, on top, on top,
one above the other.
Houses aren’t homes and home
has no heart; and the cable’s going out—
flashing on, flashing off, void of snow
or white noise. Nothing feels like comfort,
nothing feels like safe,
everything is a mystery
like new shoes and a new city.
Like new friends, who hardly know
any history or plans.
Everything is familiar, but nothing
is the same; nothing is familiar, but everything
has changed.
And I am stuck inside myself
for the duration of the day.
I’m wandering the rooms I’ve left
unfamiliar in my head.
It’s time to open up their doors,
expand into them; move all my
baggage from the crowded spaces
I’ve used and even out my head.


“Come now,
come
and mourn me.
It’s so easy
now I’m gone.”

The rain has made the lawns like swaps
and has left my heart hoping for more.
Walking through the yard has become
like trudging through mud,
grass is ankle deep and growing
with the increase of precipitation.
The only things I want are
to feel more at home in this suburban wildernessand
to not have to shake mudded water from my feet.
I miss the smell of concrete and steam,
the sound of sirens past midnight,
the jolt of trains stopping and going,
moving across the tracks with rough sparks
and no hesitation.
I miss the people who made that city my home.
I miss their energy, their honesty,
the feeling that we were true friends—
despite all the [fake ones] we encountered.
And I miss being able to laugh without needing to,
without having to smile to keep my spirits lifted.
The coffee, the cold air, the coats, the strolls,
the train rides for no reason, the adventures
that were ours.
People think I am strong, because it’s raining
and I smile.
What they can’t see are my hollowed-out insides,
and that I am happy just to not be sad.


To Feel Something Beating Against My Chest

One Cell in the Sea

The Devil in the Bathroom

©Rachel C Johnson

My mother confronts her demons in the shower. Early in the morning she addresses her issues whilst washing her hair. She chose the shower, I presume, because she maybe thinks no one can hear her, but I can make out every resentful word on mornings I sleep in. I unwillingly play audience to her diatribes on these mornings I have nowhere to be, paying relentless attention, eyes fixed on the dark water tower just beyond the yard. She’s noisy in the mornings, slamming doors with righteousness. I’m not falling asleep again.
When I was young I had a fear, probably spurned from the tales of Bloody Mary, and I couldn’t face myself in the bathroom mirror if it were dark. Unable to look my shadowed self in the eye, I would turn away until I found the light, or not go in at all. The anxiety followed me to the bath, and later the shower, where I felt eyes peering from places I couldn’t see hidden by shower curtains or, simply my back, turned on them. I had demons—demons in the bathroom—watching me from every point.
Even now my hand finds the light before my eyes hit the mirror—my refusal to face the glass becoming my refusal to face my darkened self. What lies beyond that mirror in the dark? I would like to remain mature in my imagination, say nothing—dry wall and insulation—but my childish superstitions and penchant for fantasy leave me questioning my appearance in the dark. Dark mirrors bring out the demons just as enchanted mirrors the beauty, and I’ll keep my eyes out of mine in the absence of light.
When I moved it was into a dorm, and I never had to face my demons in that bathroom. The light was always buzzing and someone was always there to share the experience. I took to hurrying my routine in the bathroom if only to shorten the communal event. There were times, however, when I would use the bathroom as an escape plan, a way to find peace from my roommate, a way to be alone with my thoughts. Finding an empty bathroom was a blessing, offering up a chance to take a moment for myself. In those moments I may have avoided the mirror for the safety of the stall, freeing myself from the obligation to face my mirror image. But, even while avoiding that sight, seeking console there alone forced me to cope with said demons. And, in a way, hide behind them, from the stress my life was developing. I hate my demons, but when I look in a lit mirror I see myself as something beautiful, and maybe only to contrast what lies in the dark.
My mother, she faces her demons with a noisy battle in the bath. My battle is silent, trudging on through age, keeping me aware of the little demons that haunt me.

November 12, 2007

Strangers in My Own Home

And Things Won't Fall Apart

Rachel C

It’s been raining. Raining now for three days straight; summer’s over and the fall’s come so soon. It stopped for about two months. Stop raining, and the temperature rose, and the humidity became unbearable, but the moment September came it poured. It’s been gloomy, and quiet as if the world were muffled by these clouds. Knowing me I’ve been enjoying my heart out of it, turning to watch it rain for brief moments while at work. It hasn’t become colder, but we can sense it coming, just by the look of the sky. The people around me are naturally put off; Oklahomans don’t enjoy their chilly weather, they don’t find satisfaction in a strong downpour. For the most part, I don’t understand most people—the people who choose to live in Oklahoma. It’s easier to assume they’re crazy than to bother with their reasoning. It’s easier because it helps me remember that I don’t want to live here anymore. It helps to remind me of one day moving out, and moving on.
The last few weeks have been planning, and changing, and becoming somebody else. My future, my ideas, my ambitions have all shifted; I’m solid in my head and steadier in life than I have ever been before. I am on my two feet as much as fate will allow and my legs are growing stronger every day. Some things have changed for me, and I won’t lie by saying I don’t know why or how. I do, I know exactly the reason, or at least exactly the theory I’ve created. Everything is moving, rearranging, altering my outlook on life. Mostly, it’s annoying, that I’m changing so quickly and so decisively—as if I’ve ever really been decisive before—but it’s also uplifting, and I am happier with each day. I know. I feel better. I feel aware. But mostly, I am just relieved. Relieved to have learned my lesson, relieved to be moving forward, so relieved to know who I am.
These past few weeks have been a life lesson, my realization of growth and wisdom. I put myself through a lot of unnecessary pain these past nine months, but I had to learn my lesson. I was tired of being arrogant, tired of being stupid, tired of being impatient. And being all of those things forced me to fuck up time after time, fail over and over. I got tired, I had to learn. These nine months have been about experience, and these next years will be about growing, moving forward, putting to action the lessons I’ve so painfully learned.
And I no longer feel redundant or dumb; these affirmations are for the sake of understanding what I’ve become. This is about moving forward, and I have finally realized what it takes to make that happen.
It’s raining again, always raining, and I’m happier for it on the outside. When it’s raining I can smile and be noticed, I can find comfort in the little things I hold dear; but even when it’s pouring torrents, when I’m happy just to be caught in the downpour, I’m happy to know this rain isn’t that kind of symbolism. It’s not that torrential downpour foreshadowing months of personal mistakes. It’s rain, September rain. Already it’s raining, and it’s just a sign that things are always moving forward.

September 7, 2007
They're All Just People to Meet

People Come and Go and Walk Away

Unlike Me
Rachel C

I wanted water. Water’s comfortable; I get water. Water is to me like a habit, something I have settled into, something soothing and sure, certain to make me feel better, relieve my constant nerves. I wanted water, because I was good at water, because I knew I could make water work for me, however I wanted to. I wanted water, because I could control it, I could control my watery future, and it was easy. Water is easy.
People are creatures of habit. We drink the same latte, eat at the same restaurant, sit in the same seat, all the time, every day. We do it because it’s comforting. It eases our nerves to know that everything in our routine is the same. Despite how quickly our lives and the world outside of our habits are changing, those little rituals make us feel at home. For years my routine has been based on my future—all that I plan to do with my life, all that my future revolves around. Which city, which school, which major, and ultimately which career. And around all of that, before and after everything: how to get there. My habit has been to plan, plan for my future, prepare myself, set my mind in focus. Five, ten, twenty years from now, set it in my mind, always focus on those dreams. To be fair, all of that constant focusing didn’t necessarily get me anywhere, ever. Through high school and into college, I have focused, but never on the day and the task at hand. Focusing on the future and not the present doesn’t get one there, but, the day dreaming was habitual, consoling, and it even had me convinced that I was comfortable with being so damn comfortable. I was wrong.
My habits were to remind myself everyday of my future, what I was doing and how I was getting there. My habits were to daydream and it became routine to fantasize about the life I was planning. My goals, my life, my future were set, comfortably, in a dream I knew I could achieve, even if I spent everyday dreaming and not working toward it. It was a dream characteristic of me. If I told anyone, they nodded knowingly; I’m easy to read, my emotions and my dreams on my sleeve. They were like water, flowing out of me, easily and naturally, I was born to it. I wanted to be comfortable, I have a tendency to be nervous, so comfortable is what I tend to strive for. I was comfortable in my natural habitat, doing what I considered to be so very like me. Much like childhood habits, chewing your nails for comfort, or pulling at hangnails for release, I scheduled and planned my life for a career that I was certain to succeed in, that I was certain to be comfortable in—something that wouldn’t make me anxious every time I thought about making it happen. But, as I’ve said, things in our lives, in the world outside, change so quickly they take you by surprise, and sometimes they can throw your routine out the window. And then what? You’re nervous, nervous because this is uncharacteristic, this isn’t natural, this isn’t so very like you. This is not habitual. This is fire, but you can’t deny how much you want fire, even though fire isn’t who you thought you were.
Habits are typically bad habits, at least the ones I am guilty of. And, once I was comfortable, I let them get the best of me. Until one Monday, when I realized that I’ve trained myself to believe I am only capable of one future. Like freezing water into ice—changing its color, giving it flavor, forming it into a heart shape with a silicone mold—I froze my future on an outcome I was certain of. My pink, strawberry ice-heart was familiar to me, but something has melted it, melted my future, melted my water. I’m capable of things I thought uncomfortable, and maybe what makes them uncomfortable should make me want to push through, turn the fire into something as soothing as water, even if it will never flow as easily. Because, I wanted water, but things have changed, and fire is so warm, so unpredictable, so very unlike me. I’ll walk through the fire if it will take me, until it becomes like a habit, until I am sure that I can face the heat without the water.
Even thought it’s not in habit, even though I’m anxious all the time, I have no desire to turn back to comfort. This fire, this blaze, is too bright to deny, and I can’t let water extinguish what could be so very great for me.

August 27, 2007
But I'm not Going Anywhere

The Reasons Have All Run Away

Our Downfalls
Rachel C

I spent an hour wandering the isles of a book store. I purchased three books and I still have nothing to read. I love the authors, I love the blurbs, but whether I will ever read them is the question. They were bought more as novelty items, something to say I have; something for someone to see, not necessarily for consuming on an all-night literary binge. Just another three titles to slip delicately onto my shelves. I am addicted to ideas.

August 8, 2007
But the Feeling Never Did

Two Steps Closer Than I had in Mind

I'm not going to lie...I've been a little weird lately.

In Repair

Am I tired, or am I
still awake and dreaming
of everything I’m not.
I’m wrapped in spirals
and crooked bull’s eyes
watching the world turn around me.
There is so much
I don’t know and
so much I
wish I did,
and I am not hopeless
without it, but tired.
I am tired, of never
knowing, of never seeing into the future.
I have no power
of divination. I
am blind. I am blind
to what you
smell like,
to the colors of the room,
to the softness
of my blankets
and the firmness
of my bed.
I only hear
what words are spoken in the loudness of my head.
I am quiet.

July 20, 2007
See what I mean? Weird.

Gaps

New rooms—unfamiliar;
and faces to match people to.
New ideas that fill the dents
in the road like puddles to plow through.
All the old things are growing
dark, like memories, faded around the edges.
And all the new things are piling up
on top, on top, on top,
one above the other.
Houses aren’t homes and home
has no heart; and the cable’s going out—
flashing on, flashing off, void of snow
or white noise. Nothing feels like comfort,
nothing feels like safe,
everything is a mystery
like new shoes and a new city.
Like new friends, who hardly know
any history or plans.
Everything is familiar, but nothing
is the same; nothing is familiar, but everything
has changed.
And I am stuck inside myself
for the duration of the day.
I’m wandering the rooms I’ve left
unfamiliar in my head.
It’s time to open up their doors,
expand into them; move all my
baggage from the crowded spaces
I’ve used and even out my head.

August 1, 2007
Oh, I'm sure there is more to come.
I Lost Myself Trying to Catch the Sun