dorothylynn - Hello Poetry

your name is deceit, and your colours and blue and black, and i paint them from day to night, long, thin strokes you escape in time to avoid the crash, vehicles colliding at 90 mph, and you escape without a scratch

0

Aug 24, 2017

Aug 24, 2017 at 11:29 PM UTC

dorothylynn

portrait of pain

your name is deceit, and your colours and blue and black, and i paint them from day to night, long, thin strokes you escape in time to avoid the crash, vehicles colliding at 90 mph, and you escape without a scratch

8

you are my treasured pain— and i am your inebriation secret joy the wonders of it all, over whiskey and wonderland talk so wistful and gay playing dress up for faux first dates and dancing around inevitability but i was her in black and red, with joy and caveats to hold at night and you were the boy with the velvet voice, so quiet at day, but bold in the evening tides how we walked this far on such rough terrain, with a third hand in mine, i’ll never know. i trip and fall down the coastline, allowing for bumps and bruises along my blushed face and jawline you were not magnificent, only marred, with tattered tales of torment and your demise but the demise was mine instead, all for the taste of a secret wine and we became the last of the great faux pas and I became a dissection at my desk again your words are meaning to you, but we crumple them and spit on your intentions, which until then were never seen out of your mouth i’ll never know how you tasted, but i know how it tastes to never have you. and you’ll not hold me in wintertime below the shadows of december, but you’ll hold on to the fragments of Almost and Settling until you pass.

0

Aug 24, 2017

Aug 24, 2017 at 11:28 PM UTC

dorothylynn

august, with caveats

you are my treasured pain— and i am your inebriation secret joy the wonders of it all, over whiskey and wonderland talk so wistful and gay playing dress up for faux first dates and dancing around inevitability but i was her in black and red, with joy and caveats to hold at night and you were the boy with the velvet voice, so quiet at day, but bold in the evening tides how we walked this far on such rough terrain, with a third hand in mine, i’ll never know. i trip and fall down the coastline, allowing for bumps and bruises along my blushed face and jawline you were not magnificent, only marred, with tattered tales of torment and your demise but the demise was mine instead, all for the taste of a secret wine and we became the last of the great faux pas and I became a dissection at my desk again your words are meaning to you, but we crumple them and spit on your intentions, which until then were never seen out of your mouth i’ll never know how you tasted, but i know how it tastes to never have you. and you’ll not hold me in wintertime below the shadows of december, but you’ll hold on to the fragments of Almost and Settling until you pass.

41

--- I pray you didn’t catch me looking at your hands as they worked in the kitchen. --- you were there, too, but it was your hands that captured my attention. strong, calloused hands. never did I ever think that peeling potatoes could be so interesting, or so attractive. --- your chest was there, also barely clad in a thin white t-shirt; a small key around your neck bounced on it, tumbling around as though on a glistening trampoline. --- hope, the key said, both engraved in its metal & in its words to me. --- moments passed at dinner that evening, & as I found myself again & again praying that your arm would graze my shoulder, I couldn’t help but wonder how much hope I could bear to keep holding on to. --- dinner came and went, but my gaze on you never wavered. I found myself both not hungry & ravenous as the entrees were served. --- could your smile be any brighter? or your eyes more soft? eyes of velvet shine & I am mesmerized. --- as dinner passed & it grew time to clear the table, you stood to clean up. I closed my eyes & prayed for your touch. behold, at the smallest graze of your wrist on the back of my neck, my heart fluttered, & you dropped my dishes. --- I sit here, the day after still contemplating these small moments, both cursing & understanding that you are not doing the same. yet, my heart still beats, h — o — p — e — when will you serve dessert?

0

Nov 25, 2016

Nov 25, 2016 at 6:10 PM UTC

dorothylynn

hope.

--- I pray you didn’t catch me looking at your hands as they worked in the kitchen. --- you were there, too, but it was your hands that captured my attention. strong, calloused hands. never did I ever think that peeling potatoes could be so interesting, or so attractive. --- your chest was there, also barely clad in a thin white t-shirt; a small key around your neck bounced on it, tumbling around as though on a glistening trampoline. --- hope, the key said, both engraved in its metal & in its words to me. --- moments passed at dinner that evening, & as I found myself again & again praying that your arm would graze my shoulder, I couldn’t help but wonder how much hope I could bear to keep holding on to. --- dinner came and went, but my gaze on you never wavered. I found myself both not hungry & ravenous as the entrees were served. --- could your smile be any brighter? or your eyes more soft? eyes of velvet shine & I am mesmerized. --- as dinner passed & it grew time to clear the table, you stood to clean up. I closed my eyes & prayed for your touch. behold, at the smallest graze of your wrist on the back of my neck, my heart fluttered, & you dropped my dishes. --- I sit here, the day after still contemplating these small moments, both cursing & understanding that you are not doing the same. yet, my heart still beats, h — o — p — e — when will you serve dessert?

61

the last thing I remember: I shatter a bottle of whiskey on the sidewalk with a spring in my step- in my peace, I hum. moments later, a **** begins to surface on my shin, but the inebriation keeps my head from noticing the litres of blood on the gravel below, dripping, pooling, draining into the street sewers. a nearly audible voice counts down from 30. 30...29...28...27... street lights, flashing turn signals, yet I stand in the middle of it all, taking it in. I’ve missed what it feels like to feel alive. ...26...25...24...23... there is a club nearby that has seen better days. the manager has taken to spending time outside rather than inside, and he stands under a streetlamp, looking for something. ...22...21...20...19... it’s not until I splash through the crimson ponds like rain boots in May puddles that I notice anything slightly amiss. ...18...17...16...15... shortly afterwards, the scent and the distillation of bourbon and bloodstains clogs my ****** orifices, a liquid mask freezing solid onto my face, eyes, and mouth. ...14...13...12...11... I collapse in my own filth and doings. what is happening? demonic chanting has joined the excitement surrounding me. ...10...9...8...7... grasping for aid like a child for her mother-- gasping ...6... car brakes screech to a halt nearby. ...5... can this— ...4... help?— ...3...2... you step out of the car, grab my hand, but upon seeing your torn face, instinct overcomes impulse: I grab a shard of glass and pierce it---------------- into my own flesh— ......1...

0

Dec 30, 2014

Dec 30, 2014 at 8:00 PM UTC

dorothylynn

december bourbon, part 1.

the last thing I remember: I shatter a bottle of whiskey on the sidewalk with a spring in my step- in my peace, I hum. moments later, a **** begins to surface on my shin, but the inebriation keeps my head from noticing the litres of blood on the gravel below, dripping, pooling, draining into the street sewers. a nearly audible voice counts down from 30. 30...29...28...27... street lights, flashing turn signals, yet I stand in the middle of it all, taking it in. I’ve missed what it feels like to feel alive. ...26...25...24...23... there is a club nearby that has seen better days. the manager has taken to spending time outside rather than inside, and he stands under a streetlamp, looking for something. ...22...21...20...19... it’s not until I splash through the crimson ponds like rain boots in May puddles that I notice anything slightly amiss. ...18...17...16...15... shortly afterwards, the scent and the distillation of bourbon and bloodstains clogs my ****** orifices, a liquid mask freezing solid onto my face, eyes, and mouth. ...14...13...12...11... I collapse in my own filth and doings. what is happening? demonic chanting has joined the excitement surrounding me. ...10...9...8...7... grasping for aid like a child for her mother-- gasping ...6... car brakes screech to a halt nearby. ...5... can this— ...4... help?— ...3...2... you step out of the car, grab my hand, but upon seeing your torn face, instinct overcomes impulse: I grab a shard of glass and pierce it---------------- into my own flesh— ......1...

44

dark bars no light in sight but the light that emanates from your throat. it cascades through the barren landscape of this rough and worn city. there’s nothing here for us, you say, as we hail a taxi cab heavily into the night your breath smells like it longs to feel something tonight. and I respond with a grasping hold on your thigh. where else can we go? I ask, as I truly do not know. your slurs say as you point, not here, but your eyes said, **right ******* here and right ******* now.** my hand slides up your thigh. pant, pant. you gaze out the window, and I watch how the streetlights glance at you from the parks and alleys. suddenly, you call to the cabby here! this is it! and the brakes nearly shake me out of the reverie we’ve created. your car door is already open by the time I’ve unhooked my seatbelt and paid the man. the night is so dark, I can only see the bottom of your expensive shoes and your toothy grin like a child who’s found his missing piece. what’s so significant about this bench? I ask, you are positively fondling it in joy. I turn around to see if the cabby has in fact left me for dead here; indeed, it’s just you and I for the Night. the echoes of traffic and of the moonbeams ringing in my ears and your calling further into the park something akin to I’ve found the one for whom my heart sings though the word “sings” sounds more like sinks deep in this wooded night. my mouth gapes open as I look above to see many moths aflutter on rooftops engaging in perilous flight I stop to wonder if any of them must long for something more than a swift battle with the night and light-- as I look back down, I see that you have begun walking back toward me. what’s the deal with this park bench? I yell to you. you’d never understand, you say. what a pain that is to hear. **what part of this euphonious spider's web has ever made you think I’d not understand?** suddenly defensive I sweep off into the night wait, you call, but I am too far gone. ----- I wrestle in my coat pockets for a call home and find a pen wedged within its bowels. headlights flicker on its metal surface as I look both ways before crossing, but step out instead-- a taxi swerves to stop but I find myself running into it toward it within it opening the door and throwing myself in-- I ignore your voice over the muddled traffic sounds and listen to my own instead: where to? the man says. to where. I say. the pen shrieks in my hand before I notice how it has bled over the leather before me expletives overflow onto the smooth seat I sit upon and I am unaware of where this strength has come from *what the **** are you doing, lady?* the man screams the door swings open before I even have a chance to cease its quick decision. I leave the pen on the seat, screaming it will torment the man instead. a screeching pain emits from my shins as I see there are pieces of asphalt imbedded in this new chapter of the same sad story I’ve been telling for the past ******* year. I sit on the sidewalk examining my wounds and suddenly you approach panting, and angry. as I record the glistening pearls of ****** remission you greet me with, I was so worried. like hell you were, I say without looking up. your voice means nothing to me any longer. you’re bleeding, you mention as though it has been the most original idea you’ve had within the past three years. my hand plunges deep into my own flesh, emerging covered in blood, as I caress your rugged face. *yes, I am,* I say. and I can see in your eyes that **it is here and it is now** your hand suddenly lifts me from the sidewalk and into the woods behind you-- my blood hums on your cheeks for just a moment before it melts into the sewer. your hands are no longer hungry, but full of assurance-- as though this were the one thing you’d known to do. my gasp echoes against the trees above the traffic cacophony your knees are scuffed as you drag me out into the park woods again wait---- I gasp for a fleeting moment we are? yes, you say we are and as my breath catches in my throat, I see.

0

Dec 2, 2014

Dec 2, 2014 at 9:52 PM UTC

dorothylynn

anon:

dark bars no light in sight but the light that emanates from your throat. it cascades through the barren landscape of this rough and worn city. there’s nothing here for us, you say, as we hail a taxi cab heavily into the night your breath smells like it longs to feel something tonight. and I respond with a grasping hold on your thigh. where else can we go? I ask, as I truly do not know. your slurs say as you point, not here, but your eyes said, **right ******* here and right ******* now.** my hand slides up your thigh. pant, pant. you gaze out the window, and I watch how the streetlights glance at you from the parks and alleys. suddenly, you call to the cabby here! this is it! and the brakes nearly shake me out of the reverie we’ve created. your car door is already open by the time I’ve unhooked my seatbelt and paid the man. the night is so dark, I can only see the bottom of your expensive shoes and your toothy grin like a child who’s found his missing piece. what’s so significant about this bench? I ask, you are positively fondling it in joy. I turn around to see if the cabby has in fact left me for dead here; indeed, it’s just you and I for the Night. the echoes of traffic and of the moonbeams ringing in my ears and your calling further into the park something akin to I’ve found the one for whom my heart sings though the word “sings” sounds more like sinks deep in this wooded night. my mouth gapes open as I look above to see many moths aflutter on rooftops engaging in perilous flight I stop to wonder if any of them must long for something more than a swift battle with the night and light-- as I look back down, I see that you have begun walking back toward me. what’s the deal with this park bench? I yell to you. you’d never understand, you say. what a pain that is to hear. **what part of this euphonious spider's web has ever made you think I’d not understand?** suddenly defensive I sweep off into the night wait, you call, but I am too far gone. ----- I wrestle in my coat pockets for a call home and find a pen wedged within its bowels. headlights flicker on its metal surface as I look both ways before crossing, but step out instead-- a taxi swerves to stop but I find myself running into it toward it within it opening the door and throwing myself in-- I ignore your voice over the muddled traffic sounds and listen to my own instead: where to? the man says. to where. I say. the pen shrieks in my hand before I notice how it has bled over the leather before me expletives overflow onto the smooth seat I sit upon and I am unaware of where this strength has come from *what the **** are you doing, lady?* the man screams the door swings open before I even have a chance to cease its quick decision. I leave the pen on the seat, screaming it will torment the man instead. a screeching pain emits from my shins as I see there are pieces of asphalt imbedded in this new chapter of the same sad story I’ve been telling for the past ******* year. I sit on the sidewalk examining my wounds and suddenly you approach panting, and angry. as I record the glistening pearls of ****** remission you greet me with, I was so worried. like hell you were, I say without looking up. your voice means nothing to me any longer. you’re bleeding, you mention as though it has been the most original idea you’ve had within the past three years. my hand plunges deep into my own flesh, emerging covered in blood, as I caress your rugged face. *yes, I am,* I say. and I can see in your eyes that **it is here and it is now** your hand suddenly lifts me from the sidewalk and into the woods behind you-- my blood hums on your cheeks for just a moment before it melts into the sewer. your hands are no longer hungry, but full of assurance-- as though this were the one thing you’d known to do. my gasp echoes against the trees above the traffic cacophony your knees are scuffed as you drag me out into the park woods again wait---- I gasp for a fleeting moment we are? yes, you say we are and as my breath catches in my throat, I see.

146

you’re still gutting me open as I sleep. my heart races at the thought of us... 1. being so casual with each other; we have our jokes over pourover coffees while we make comments on each other’s Agonized-over, whiskey-induced writing. no one else has such the privilege as I. 2. going for walks in the evenings; we have our places & our friends to see, but Neither is so important as that we sleep next to each other that night & each night from now on. no one else has such the privilege as I. 3. waking in the morning’s gentle light; Dreaming, even as I lay awake. in one hand, you clutch our blanket, in the other, me. no one else has such the privilege as I. 4. feeling no hesitation; so in love with each other that we bend, but never break. you chase, & you catch— Reverie is ours. no one else has such the privilege as I. 5. spending weekends in our bed; your hands, at one moment, curled around your novel. the next, Entangled in my hair. no one else has such the privilege as I. 6. Watching our children leave for school; I have to go to work, honey. I know you’re late, but I still pin you to the wall before giving you your lunch on your way out. no one else has such the privilege as I. -- *I awaken. it is morning & I am breathing, though dripping in our blood.*

0

Jul 13, 2014

Jul 13, 2014 at 8:00 PM UTC

dorothylynn

ours.

you’re still gutting me open as I sleep. my heart races at the thought of us... 1. being so casual with each other; we have our jokes over pourover coffees while we make comments on each other’s Agonized-over, whiskey-induced writing. no one else has such the privilege as I. 2. going for walks in the evenings; we have our places & our friends to see, but Neither is so important as that we sleep next to each other that night & each night from now on. no one else has such the privilege as I. 3. waking in the morning’s gentle light; Dreaming, even as I lay awake. in one hand, you clutch our blanket, in the other, me. no one else has such the privilege as I. 4. feeling no hesitation; so in love with each other that we bend, but never break. you chase, & you catch— Reverie is ours. no one else has such the privilege as I. 5. spending weekends in our bed; your hands, at one moment, curled around your novel. the next, Entangled in my hair. no one else has such the privilege as I. 6. Watching our children leave for school; I have to go to work, honey. I know you’re late, but I still pin you to the wall before giving you your lunch on your way out. no one else has such the privilege as I. -- *I awaken. it is morning & I am breathing, though dripping in our blood.*

62

lights shining down a dim hallway illuminate the ghostly remains of you— still slinking about within the deep recesses of my mind. inhale, clutch you tightly within my lungs [I cannot bear to release you hastily, for your appearances are far too rare, our memories much too few]. the scent of musk & former ardor lingers in my nostrils; flashbacks of sweat & bourbon radiate in my temples, throb in my chest. I pause: distant cackling replaces your former fervent whispers as my true recollections reveal themselves out of the darkness— memories of torment & deception & vices asphyxiate me; blood begins to seep from scarred over wounds & I remember why you are but a ghost. exhale.

0

May 29, 2014

May 29, 2014 at 6:47 PM UTC

dorothylynn

cerebral hemorrhage.

lights shining down a dim hallway illuminate the ghostly remains of you— still slinking about within the deep recesses of my mind. inhale, clutch you tightly within my lungs [I cannot bear to release you hastily, for your appearances are far too rare, our memories much too few]. the scent of musk & former ardor lingers in my nostrils; flashbacks of sweat & bourbon radiate in my temples, throb in my chest. I pause: distant cackling replaces your former fervent whispers as my true recollections reveal themselves out of the darkness— memories of torment & deception & vices asphyxiate me; blood begins to seep from scarred over wounds & I remember why you are but a ghost. exhale.

29

bushes, you've beaten about them & smoke, you've blown-- you've circled your fist a few times to get to your thumb & you've tiptoed around&around;&around--; [stutters&wells;&whatdoYOUthinks;&um;/um/umms--] but the answer is still in the mist of unnecessary cocktails & dawdling moments, misplaced emotions-- I'm just as confused as you, & the mixtapes you've made just won't do this time-- because music can speak louder than words, [if your words cannot be found in the first place]; but you've been searching for them half as long as you've been searching for something else-- --that is-- --yourself. **for just because I have found you, doesn't mean that you have just yet.**

0

May 12, 2014

May 12, 2014 at 6:15 PM UTC

dorothylynn

your maundering.

bushes, you've beaten about them & smoke, you've blown-- you've circled your fist a few times to get to your thumb & you've tiptoed around&around;&around--; [stutters&wells;&whatdoYOUthinks;&um;/um/umms--] but the answer is still in the mist of unnecessary cocktails & dawdling moments, misplaced emotions-- I'm just as confused as you, & the mixtapes you've made just won't do this time-- because music can speak louder than words, [if your words cannot be found in the first place]; but you've been searching for them half as long as you've been searching for something else-- --that is-- --yourself. **for just because I have found you, doesn't mean that you have just yet.**

24

there is a chasm in my chest, occasionally, when the earth feels too dense with hate & when I begin to drown in it-- it takes my breath away. I stop, pull the moment back for a time, remind myself that this, this, is fleeting. in out close your eyes listen. *this is not permanent. nothing truly is but truth.*

0

May 8, 2014

May 8, 2014 at 7:58 PM UTC

dorothylynn

submerged.

there is a chasm in my chest, occasionally, when the earth feels too dense with hate & when I begin to drown in it-- it takes my breath away. I stop, pull the moment back for a time, remind myself that this, this, is fleeting. in out close your eyes listen. *this is not permanent. nothing truly is but truth.*

17

---round one. shatteredinathousandpieces-- beatenbrokenbruised-- anxiety. plagues me like a sailor's calling to the sea-- *will this-- will he-- always plague me?* i pray my God can redeem my heart-- LORD, if this is right, heal me. if this was a wrong decision, let me be corrected. i cannot trust my own desires. *i am a ship lost at sea; i have no harbor but my own Mast.* oh soul, how do you fare? oh mind, why do you run? does not all love cause pain? do not all relationships unfurl into discrepancies? *reconcile me-- my whole life has been a series of me following Your Call & responding as a man called to his Ninevah.* though the voyage be arduous, there is always Reward. ---round two. LORD, gutmeopen & make me yours&yoursalone--; i was meant for so much more than this turmoil-- redeem me-- make me yours. ---round three. i am a convict to my Savior & joyfully so-- may this river sweep me up & cleanse me so clean i can not bear to see pain-- my breathing uneven, only my soul remains-- my limbs so burdened with bloodshed & stings-- from the pain of carrying home too many things-- LORD GOD I SURRENDER-- i lash out against evil! awaken my soul, LORD, I NO LONGER TREMBLE. this heartbreak will not break me, these tears will not freeze, for my soul finds rest in this peace-- i'm REDEEMED.

0

Feb 11, 2014

Feb 11, 2014 at 3:29 PM UTC

dorothylynn

conviction [in tongues].

---round one. shatteredinathousandpieces-- beatenbrokenbruised-- anxiety. plagues me like a sailor's calling to the sea-- *will this-- will he-- always plague me?* i pray my God can redeem my heart-- LORD, if this is right, heal me. if this was a wrong decision, let me be corrected. i cannot trust my own desires. *i am a ship lost at sea; i have no harbor but my own Mast.* oh soul, how do you fare? oh mind, why do you run? does not all love cause pain? do not all relationships unfurl into discrepancies? *reconcile me-- my whole life has been a series of me following Your Call & responding as a man called to his Ninevah.* though the voyage be arduous, there is always Reward. ---round two. LORD, gutmeopen & make me yours&yoursalone--; i was meant for so much more than this turmoil-- redeem me-- make me yours. ---round three. i am a convict to my Savior & joyfully so-- may this river sweep me up & cleanse me so clean i can not bear to see pain-- my breathing uneven, only my soul remains-- my limbs so burdened with bloodshed & stings-- from the pain of carrying home too many things-- LORD GOD I SURRENDER-- i lash out against evil! awaken my soul, LORD, I NO LONGER TREMBLE. this heartbreak will not break me, these tears will not freeze, for my soul finds rest in this peace-- i'm REDEEMED.

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