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Johneta Ohler Poem
The secretive type
I like to creep in the night
when you hear me speak
under my breath to be polite
(i'm talking to you)
inconspicuous keep killing
the mystique building
I only speak to the
freakishly sick children
Copyright © Johneta Ohler | Year Posted 2009
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Johneta Ohler Poem
They say death comes in threes…
And I hate that people say it so casually
like it’s just a pattern,
like it’s just a saying
Because when death shows up,
it doesn’t knock politely.
It doesn’t wait for you to be ready.
It takes.
And suddenly the world is different
in a way you can’t explain
until you’re standing in the quiet after.
One moment you’re laughing.
The next moment you’re learning
how fragile everything is.
How quickly life can fold in on itself.
How fast the people you love
can become memories.
And it makes me realize…
We spend so much time rushing.
Rushing to be better.
Rushing to be healed.
Rushing to be successful.
Rushing to arrive at some version of ourselves
that finally feels… enough.
But life doesn’t work like death does.
Life doesn’t change in an instant.
You don’t wake up one day
and suddenly the pain is gone.
You don’t wake up one day
and suddenly you’re proud of yourself.
You don’t wake up one day
and suddenly you’re everything
you’ve been trying so hard to become.
No…
Life is slow.
Life is a thousand tiny steps
taken while you’re tired.
Life is getting up
when your spirit still feels heavy.
Life is trying again
even after disappointing yourself
over
and over
and over.
Because big dreams
aren’t reached in one breathtaking moment.
They’re reached in the quiet.
In the days you almost gave up
but didn’t.
In the nights you cried
and still showed up the next morning.
In the smallest accomplishments
that no one sees…
But you survived them.
You survived.
And maybe you haven’t met your goals yet.
Maybe you still feel behind.
Maybe you look at your life
and only see what’s missing.
But please…
Please don’t call yourself a failure
just because you’re still becoming.
You are not failing.
You are human.
You are growing
at the pace life allows.
So take a moment…
Look at how far you’ve come.
Look at everything you’ve carried
that should’ve crushed you.
Look at the fact
that you are still here.
Still hoping.
Still trying.
Still dreaming
despite everything.
Take your time.
Cherish the time you have…
Because one day you’ll realize
the life you were rushing through…
was the life.
And you were never behind.
You were just alive.
Copyright © Johneta Ohler | Year Posted 2026
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Johneta Ohler Poem
They said love was a risk.
They didn’t say
it could feel like a staged performance.
I gave my whole heart...
not a rental,
not a sample,
not a “let’s see.”
The whole thing.
And it was handed back to me
creased
bruised
like something returned without a receipt.
So I blamed myself.
Of course I did.
If it was my fault
then I could fix it.
If I was too much
I could be less.
If I loved too loudly
I could whisper next time.
It felt safer
to be defective
than deceived.
But here’s the truth that came after...
slow,
stubborn,
holy.
Sometimes we trust the wrong people.
And that is not a sin.
Some people show you
what they know you’ll fall for.
They study your softness.
They rehearse tenderness.
They mirror your longing
until it looks like destiny.
And when you finally open,
when you finally say
“Here. Take all of me.”
That’s when the curtain drops.
And you think
you imagined it.
But you didn’t.
You loved honestly.
They loved strategically.
There is a difference.
My curse was never loving too deeply.
My curse was thinking
depth required self-blame.
But I am not at fault
for believing what I was shown.
I am not foolish
for responding to warmth.
I am not broken
for wanting something real.
The only thing that bruised me
was giving oceans
to someone who brought a cup.
And that is not a flaw in the ocean.
That is a limitation of the cup.
Copyright © Johneta Ohler | Year Posted 2026
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Johneta Ohler Poem
The doorbell rang.
He looked at the clock through blurry eyes.
4:29 A.M.
Who could be here so early in the morning?
He turned to his wife fast asleep next to him.
Slowly he slid out of bed, so he would not wake her.
Crept down the stairs and to the door.
Who at this ungodly hour??
Not one but TWO men stood faced away from the door.
"Who is it?"
They turn.
Police officers.
But why?
Slowly he opens the door.
"Hello Sir. is this the residency of..."
He looked passed them.
The car was gone.
Everything stopped.
He couldn't breathe, or move.
But he was positive she was in bed.
"We're so sorry for your loss."
He ran upstairs to an empty bed.
She was gone.
Copyright © Johneta Ohler | Year Posted 2016
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Johneta Ohler Poem
Once upon a starry night,
the fairies came to play.
No grown up knew they exist,
no child could resist.
The children went to play and have fun,
but the fairies had a plan.
For the children who see them must never return,
or parents would hunt them down.
When it came time to go home,
the children couldn't go.
"MOMMA!" "PAPPA!" they would cry to no avail,
their voices lost in the night.
Their hopeless parents looked and looked,
the childeren were never found.
All they found was a mushroom circle in the ground.
Now late at night, the fairies dance,
a dance of sorrow in the grass.
For the children didn't know,
that the fairies wouldn't let them go.
Keep them innocent,
it brings no harm.
But to the parents,
they'd taken their souls.
Copyright © Johneta Ohler | Year Posted 2010
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Johneta Ohler Poem
The heartbreak would forgive God's fire darkly
Suicidally they shatter her heart: I am spiritual
Darkly destroy my all too dark wings
Your conscious chains would rise up against our mind rhythmically
So mystically you remember that fire: I am unique
Together disguise his all too ancient screams
Deliberately understand someone's timeless war
And that unconscious venom should hurt the scar
Although trap this hurt wound
And this ironic jealousy would disguise his revenge to the end
The world's hatred...
Cry for your sky
This jealousy would analyse the world's heartbreak
Hideously they relish the world's suffering, for you are boundless
Someone else's angelic sky will adore our song
So the world's song will embitter the world's truth
Copyright © Johneta Ohler | Year Posted 2011
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Johneta Ohler Poem
The sun has fallen,
the moon has risen.
The monsters that lurk,
are finally out to play.
Children fast asleep,
as the mosnters start to peek.
At night,
when you feel like you're being watched,
it's the monsters,
in your closet,
under your bed.
Why do they prey this way?
Because it's easier, they say.
Copyright © Johneta Ohler | Year Posted 2012
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Johneta Ohler Poem
Looking in the glass,
I see the scars,
I see the tears fall,
from her tired eyes.
I smile,
Then watch her force a smile,
Back at me.
The hurt within her,
Barely hiding.
She smiles,
She tried to make you believe,
That she's okay.
She's okay with it all.
The emptiness,
No longer haunts her in her sleep.
I see the tiredness under her eyes.
She gets angry,
Turns away,
Turns back with a raised fist.
Tears streaming from her eyes.
Then,
A smash,
A crash,
Shattered glass.
Finally,
I walk way,
From the broken Mirror.
Copyright © Johneta Ohler | Year Posted 2011
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Johneta Ohler Poem
That phobia shall never turn on someone's innocence suicidally
So continually identify our so unaware eternity
And his mountain should torment my venom
So you kill Satan's fate — I am apparent
But her unwanted venom should fear their creature endlessly
My door...
Someone else's ritual sting should love your spirit suddenly
And then in agony defeat your tomb
Someone's chains should gaze at someone else's hell
When my resting place should reject someone else's ignorance sorrowfully
So our really bloodstained door shall never identify his song to the end
His bright soul should turn against that relic
To the end they fight your jealousy: it is bloodstained
Palely acknowledge your quite ritual suffering
Because typically they recoil from his eternity — you are ironic
Endlessly reject your lifeless sky
Copyright © Johneta Ohler | Year Posted 2011
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Johneta Ohler Poem
a rose isn't a rose
unless it has beauty
a person isn't a person
unless it has a soul
if a person has beauty,
but don't have a soul....
is it a rose??
Copyright © Johneta Ohler | Year Posted 2009
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