Still Small Voice

If you’re real then where are you?

And if you’re real, then how could you?

Why do you abondon us, leave us in the hands of our mental warfare, it’s unjust of you and I don’t think I can trust you

I remember falling face down before you…all I wanted was to adore you, but you said yourself it wasn’t enough and now I don’t think I can trust you

I made myself open the blinds, unlocked the door then stepped outside and all I found was me

Yes, all I found was me

I broke the rocks, called upon the wind, fell to my knees from the earth quaking, I built a fire inside a cave, but you never spoke my name, I sat and listened anyway

Then in the silence I heard someone speak, it was a still small voice and the voice was me

This shit used to mean something  But Elijah it was your voice, baby

Fall to my knees scared to try to breathe. My own voice was foreign to me

If you’re real, where are you?

And if you’re real, how could you?

You leave us in these dark places  it’s chemical warfare behind the  Traces of lines on my many faces

And I don’t think I can trust you

Written by: Stacy Johnson 7-4-19, cycle day 9 Mother/maiden

Arms Tied Above My Head


There’s no diving into deeper waters with you, You are surface level, ankle deep, I cannot continue to feed this thing, Cause I only put out and I never receive

Like the eyes watching from underneath my bed, When I turn out the lights, you take over my head, and  I can’t do this, I’m spent

Tonight my thoughts won’t let me sleep, My voice won’t speak, But the silence screams

I pace the floors. Knowing for sure That there isn’t a cure

You’ve got a hold on me, my codependency, And I can’t break free

Because I like my arms tied above my head, I like when you grab my throat just a bit

Caught somewhere between ecstasy and abuse. You are the rope to my metaphorical noose

Pressure on my neck. Try to catch my breath  Before you kick the chair Out from under me again

I could fight and try to break loose

But instead I walk a little closer to you 

And tell you- you can have me however you choose

This is a cycle, My day to day  I get up ask how’s the weather,  babe

Inside I’m scheming bout the sun, the moon, the stars. Reading bout our ancestors and humanity’s collective scars

I’m channeling the wisdom of those gone before, I’m gathering their courage to fill up my jar  So I can drink it in and maybe move on

I pace the floors. Knowing for sure That there isn’t a cure

You’ve got a hold on me, my codependency, And I can’t break free

Because I like my arms tied above my head. I like when you grab my throat just a bit

Caught somewhere between ecstasy and abuse. You are the rope to my metaphorical noose

Pressure on my neck. Try to catch my breath  Before you kick the chair. Out from under me again

I could fight and try to break loose

But instead I walk a little closer to you 

And Tell you- you can have me however you choose

Written by: Stacy Johnson 7/8/19 (Mother cycle day 12)

Paper Near My Pen

I’ve never been more scared to have this paper near my pen

I cannot control the words pouring from my limbs

Sometimes my words are my tears

Then again, sometimes they’re my peers

See, if I let you read them, you can use them against me, you could beat me with my own bones, instead of just throwing stones

I like stones better, they just peel off my skin-that means you’re not using my own thoughts as the weapon…

If my bones are my words, then I’m built by them, and if I’m built by them, and you look in, then you can see how close I am to crumbling

I tell a different story from the outside looking in, And no one really knows in my mind what’s happening, Not until I sit down and put some paper near my pen

And if I let you in, you win

And if I let you in, you win

See, I’ve never been more scared to have this paper near my pen

Cause I cannot control the words pouring from my limbs…

Written By: Stacy Johnson 7-4-19 (maiden/mother day 10)

Belly of the Whale

Put down the crosses you’re carrying

They weren’t ever yours to hold
Someone placed that thought in You if the truth be told

But

You are enough just being you
And when you’ve had enough
You can be someone new

Keep on pushing

Keep on losing

Any path that wasn’t your choosing

You need to exhale, need to befriend your doubt
Cause you can’t fill up what’s never been without

Sink down into your unbecoming
Float in the sea of the unknowing

Cause in the deep
The tomb does its work

And it’s there in the quiet
resurrection leads to a birth

Do you understand what I’m trying to say
Its a glorious darkness inside the grave

From the belly of the whale it’s a slow escape
but you can learn to enjoy the burn of a dimly lit flame
Only if you let a fire lead the way

Of those gone before you who lit up their torches
Of those who beat down the path so that you could now forge this

Follow their lead, come alongside me

Together we can come up for air, together we can learn to breathe

We’ll burn down the bridges, we’ll untie the strings

No puppet, no master, just a reckoning

In the belly of the whale, I set myself free What kind of savior throws his child out to sea? Only one who is setting up a false delivery

Don’t ask us to be what wasn’t meant to be
In the belly of the whale, I chose me

——————Nineveh can wait til I’m ready

Written by Stacy Johnson 6/29/19 (cycle day 5 crone)

Us All Along.

My Sister, Steph, over at The Irresponsible Blogger, wrote a bomb-ass piece that tells our story. Inspired by 21 Pilots lyrics in Jumpsuit, I feel grateful to all who’ve been brave enough to heal the wounds religion beats into our being… listen to the song while you read and if you need anyone…

✨The Irresponsible Blogger✨

I opened the double doors to the outside..

The sun is bright

First time I saw myself in that kind of light…

Backs away further

Can’t bear the weight of that steeple.. 

Fooled the whole time

Thinking I was draped in white

Footsteps backwards away from the people…

No. She’s dark inside..and built by their lies.

No. She’s dark inside…and built out of spite.

I’ll walk away bravely, away from heavy doors.

But my sister is still in there pacing the floors..

I can’t leave her..in there… her beautiful mind…standing in between pews..taking in lies….

She told me, “Stephy just pray…don’t give up..Please…..Don’t leave yet.”

I told her,

 “Sister….I’ll be right there..but you’ll have to grab my throat and lift me in the air.”

“and If you need anyone..I’ll stop my plans but you’ll have to tie me down and then break both my hands.” 

She said, “I’m always here.” 

View original post 377 more words

You Feel Me? Rambling Prose, maybe Rhyme…IDK IDK

Steph—-you will be the only one who grasps each line

When we were little girls we used to sing about sipping cider, now we sip our coffee before the sun

We don’t talk about what’s to come, we talk about the past. Reminiscing on our lessons, on the things that we’ve done

We laugh and we have answers—-but then, we were little girls whose dreams were lost in the patriarchy

We ponder aloud, “Who could we have been? Where could we be?” Because no matter how hard we love, this shit is still bitter tasting

“Did I ever belong to me?” I ask. She says, “No, we never did and oh my God- I was so fucking stupid.”

Don’t say that. Don’t say that; It wasn’t our choice that the system degraded us to nothingness

The only goal then was marry someone and have some children…

On our own, we held no worth

But my beautiful sister, we know now—-we know, we know, we know

We know so deeply its reshaped our bones

You know its not just keeping tabs, its using what we have, to seal up the wounds in the gaps where it stabs

That, or bleed out, bleed out—- I think they’d  rather the latter than to simply sit down and ask, “What’s the matter?”

“Oh the places you’ll go and the places you’ll see,” I grew up on that shit but its forsaken me

False promises, Seuss. Don’t say that to little girls, it causes them to dream while their under the roof, or glass ceiling really

But——We are who we needed; We are who we needed. And, We have all we need, behind our eye-lids

We let Silence do it’s work and then for our kids—-we sit with it, no teaching-no preaching—just being

Can’t wake the dead with a kiss, maybe we can rouse them with our metaphorical fists

Cause I’m not ever going to stop blasting this shit, if I ever do might as well slit my wrists—-but only with a butter knife 

So as not to cut too deep, I’m not letting go of this world, I don’t need it- but it needs me

I’m rambling on at this point because my coffee is getting cold, and as the warmth leaves my cup, my ideas start to fold

So now its time for me to sit here and think, of all the things that mean nothing and are everything to me

Rambled and Written by: Stacy Johnson (Day 2 Crone, 6-26-19)

Grow from Me

What will I become?
Buried under earth, dirt
Consciousness gone, but perhaps a rebirth

I do not know-I cannot say
Don’t ever tell me to believe your way

Our ancestors buried their dead
Curled up-fetal, knees to chest

Hoping like seeds give way to flowers
For a regeneration from the Earth’s womb powers

For us to return in some beautiful state
Where our life is built on the lessons we take

Like those before, let vultures chew to my bones
Strip me right down to my internal stones

Paint me red, like blood from the womb
Grant me the solace of a cosmological tomb

Resting in the form of the way I became
Atoms, molecules, cells, a Name

Earth Water Fire Wind—-stones hold their magic, cover me with them 

Maybe earth’s pulse will warm the marrow inside
And evolve me slowly from matter to mind

What will I become?
Buried under earth, dirt
Consciousness gone, but perhaps a rebirth

Written by Stacy Johnson (June 24, 2019. Cycle Day 29 WW)