No room to feel

We lived mostly as bridges, standing tall and strong.
Our hearts of stone were never for evil
It just had to be strong enough to protect the people in it.

No room to feel

There was no reason in emotion, no strength in tears and nothing good ever came from either.

The sunset was never meant to be stared at, it was the only sign that we had fought the sun that day and won, and the sunrise was a new days battle cry.

The stars were never meant to be gazed at, they only remind us that anything that could only shine in the dark would always remain small and common.

So no room to feel

Because we were men

We were Irish men

With a Guinness in one hand and a fist in the other. There was no room for hugs and embrace

Because we were men

We were Irish men on foreign soil but we were still Irish

And this was nothing but a great drinking story in the making

They couldn’t stain us, we were the palest of clouds yet we were the soil

We were the earth upon which the world stands. The world did not revolve around us, but we were the axis upon which it spun

So no room to feel

There’s a world to build of steel and bones and ours were the strongest Because we were men

We were Irish men

I’ve never known how to feel about wild things.

I read once never to fall in love with a wild thing.

Their hair will always belong to the wind and their toes will always belong in the sand.

“Never fall in love with a wild thing” they said

Their soul is made of earth and sky and has no anchor.

Their heart is always searching for reasons to skip and there’s only so much rope you can offer.

So do not tame a wild thing run with it as far and as long as you can until your body breaks or you become wild too.

I’ve always had a thing for old photographs.

The way the black casts its shadow on the white and leaves shades of grey in between.

The way they contrast and compliment each other in a single frame.

The way they hide truth but reveal beauty.

Or maybe that’s just how things are in the purest of forms. Maybe they strip bone and leave nothing but spine and smile.

I’ve always had a thing for old photographs.

They’ve always filled the blank spaces of uncertain

Like you my love

You have and will always be a dream

The red sweater in an old photograph

The tickle of rain on my desert heart

Forget the heartbeat, dance to the grey that my veins now play and unwind the colour from your skin.

You’ve always been most faithful locked in the tower of a dream

You’ve always been most beautiful when you didn’t exist.

Ours is a story only fit for the drunken lips of old gypsy women

something loosely bound to reality

I stop my flirtation with words just long enough to say I love you in the simplest way possible

But it’s never that simple

Hearts don’t always recycle emotions and tongues don’t always have the words

so lay here with me, under willow branches and whispering winds

let heart beats speak the things we’re too afraid to say

I fear with us cupid used the moon as target practice and you carry a little too much sun shine in your smile.

I fear that numbers carry too much meaning and distance is a monster under the bed waiting for night time.

I don’t know a lot about her, but I do know this.

I know she has a face made of broken mirror pieces, but once in a while she’ll let you see through the cracks. Once in a while she introduces you to her closets skeletons and the kidnapped emotions in the basement of her soul and once too often I've been caught trying to set them free.

Sometimes I catch her in the darkest corners of my heart trying to plant stars, other times I don’t, and only realize it when the sun rises in my nightmares.

So hold my hand, lets dance to whatever song life is playing now, and see where the night leads us.

I am Dagogo Michael Dagogo Hart

Son of a man

Great to some small to some

I am a man, with an hour glass for a heart and a ticking time bomb for a mind.

And lately I’ve been struggling with the words

How can I explain happiness and sadness at the same time

that my mind is both at peace and at war.

But I know I can count on french fries and pancakes to catch me when gravity fails

I know I can count on my hourglass to always fall side ways to buy me more time.

And I know I can trust my ticking time bomb to keep ticking and even when it blows up, to leave shrapnel in the basement of the earth so the world would always remember me.

This year, breath is currency, and I’m not as rich as I used to be.

I have a closet full of more cheap thrills than skeletons and I wonder if Heaven takes refunds.

My souls shadow keeps dragging me into these nightmares where the moon stops following me, there’s a trail of honey and shackles and a cemetery of others that tried before me but there’s one more breadcrumb in my compass, there’s one more feather in my ankle and home is a paper cup and cotton string away.

So I’m building a bridge of hope and doubt, praying the shoes I’m trying fill are large enough to fill the spaces.

Place your palms in mine, let them fall asleep exchanging war stories, while our hearts stay up all night practicing to beat in rhythm.

Let me kiss you on the cheek, I have rose seeds in my lips to plant in the creeks where the river of your tears flow. So whenever you cry and I’m not there, the roses would remind you I’m always with you.

If I could I would make your laugh the sound track to my life flashing before my eyes. It would make dying a lot less awful.

The goosebumps and hair at the back of your neck say everything your lips are too afraid to say.

My heart of stone to other girls was just practice to being your rock. Let me be your home, let me be your refuge. I’d pay a thousand sunsets to wake up next to the sunrise in your smile, to see the moon go green with envy every time it sees your eyes.

No matter how much I try to act cool, my heart beat has never been good at keeping secrets, I have busy bees for butterflies and your voice is the only honey they know.

I want to know your eyelashes by name, I want to kiss the chills down your spine.

Let me be your favorite bed time story, let my chest be your favorite pillow and my arms your favorite blanket. Come lay with me, fall asleep in my arms and let me be your first dream.