"Dilapidated Daydreaming" by Meg Johnson


My mind, an ancient

abandoned / farmhouse. It could collapse, crumble,

at any time. Still, I slink around

like it's swanky.

A penthouse.

Maladaptive means you are very sorry. For yourself

and yourself only. I thought I was a carpenter.

I thought I was

an architect.

You know what crying tastes like.

I don't need to explain that

to you.


Meg Johnson is the author of the books Inappropriate Sleepover (The National Poetry Review Press, 2014), The Crimes of Clara Turlington (Vine Leaves Press, 2015), and Without: Body, Name, Country (Vine Leaves Press, 2020). Her writing has appeared in Hobart, Ms. Magazine, Nashville Review, Painted Bride Quarterly, Sugar House Review, and many other publications. Her website is: www.megjohnson.org

Instagram: @megjohnsonauthor

Twitter: @missmegjohnson

Related Posts

See All

We pour shampoo into Norah’s hot tub, well, not her hot tub, her parents’ hot tub, but we’re the ones using it, and we want bubbles. It takes a lot to overcome the chemical treatments, but eventually

amanda palmer presents to me a man o' war where my face should be pink-brained siphonophore water pocket dry popped dead upon the sand where she beached me white and blacked like weimar and worri

A chill wraps itself around my neck and needles make a knot inside my right fist. The right joint always raised red flags, even when I chose to chalk it up to acidic butterflies, especially on the nig