Kat Johnson

I have heard You calling in the night

the cheap rusting razor blades

& sucked in stomach

plump with ribs and scar tissue

begging for nourishment, for peace

the pink glittery knockoff

sneakers & the way the frogs

kept her awake

she blamed the noise

at least

the darkness of 4:34 a.m., oranges

& ten-pound eyelids

questions, caffeine

the bikini size on the scratchy plastic tag

not reading the right letter

the way she hated mirrors

the ripping phone charger & wired earbuds

the weight of the rain against cracked glass

an aching head pressed against the cold schoolbus

window, looking at the blur of cars and lives

speeding past hers, wondering what must it feel like

having somewhere to go

metal braces catching on warm cheeks

& the strange familiarity of the copper taste

of blood and the color on her wet fingertips

scratched knees against church pews

blurry eyes with tunnel vision on a crucifixion

of her own


Kat Johnson is a sophomore at SUNY Geneseo. She is majoring in English (creative writing) and minoring in women’s & gender studies. In addition to poetry, she also writes and performs original music.