Nicole Johnson

  • Ode to his eyes

    I’ve withered inside like a plant drained of life The sun infects me Heeds me, From the hierarchy of light blue skies. Drawn to the warmth, like a moth to flames Those flecks of jade Forged a fire inside a field of hate. Gleaming wonder with every emotion I gaze…

  • Buyer’s remorse

    The sound of rain strums against their haven from the warmth of rest. The soft purrs of a partner’s breath, stirred inside crevices upturned.   Silhouettes of couples’ remorse crept in, like a virus latched to its host. Frozen in time, to the day a path turned divide The air…

  • Journal

    Pitch forks raised high Arched toward blackened skies that cover the whites of their eyes.  Like the scent of copper stripped, encouraged to die.

  • Vets on campus—A summary of available programs and resources

      According to Veterans Coordinator, Krista Griffin, there are 265 veterans in attendance at Washington State University Vancouver, making up seven percent of the student population. On average, 50-60 veterans graduate every year. These graduates wear a red, white and blue tassel on their graduation cap.   Griffin is the…

  • Vows

    Never in a million years did I expect to be standing here. Ready to profess my love to someone like you. I knew the moment I saw you, once the sky parted on my pity party, you were the glue. I was depressed that day, and somehow found a reason…

  • Reflection

    As I slowly approach the dirty thirty train, I sit back and think about my life thus far. I expected to be married with a kid or two and finished with my degree in journalism, while working in the field. A minuscule frown forms on my face as I realize…

  • Vows

    I didn’t know what I was missing I’ve lived life with no vision. I was their puppet of non-completion. My heart constricted and the world slipped from my grasp. It displayed across the projector, Like a thornless rose that let true light pass. I’ve woken countless times. Days, weeks, Months…

  • Lost at sea

    If there was a rainbow, it would bore into your soul and remove the demons that enter with a glow.

  • Letter to the flames

    I’ve often dreamt about the day I would leave Bags packed and stacked at the door— I’d walk through the flames nonchalantly.   My brows would furrow from a blind rage, as our home went up in flames. I’d leave in a hurry, cut every corner closely.   I pictured…

  • Lioness

    I took another sip from the mug. The sound of liquid circled whistling waves inside the tunnel. The colors were crystal now— Beautiful orange hues that reflected bronze under the lit sky.