My body

my body has a memory
my body has a memory of you
my body has a memory of your skin.

My body

my body remembers
my body remembers how it bent
my body remembers how it bent to your beckoning.

And yet

my mind
my mind has washed itself
my mind has washed itself of your name

like it was no more than scum
to be scrubbed.


All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

This is a re-post



If you
are forgiving
to my omission
of carving your name
eternal upon my flesh

then I will
be forgetful
to the distance
you divined to draw
your own deceits upon skin

that wasn’t mine

as I forget you completely.


All words and photographs by Damien B Donnelly

This is a re-post



When all the fuss has faded
like guilt that glides from gloss,
when I’ve pulled back the hair,
when I’ve crept from the clothes,
when my flesh is all that you see
and there is nothing left
to hide the parts of me
I never wanted to be,
Will you…? Will I…?
When my tears come like the floods
with no temperament to temper the tempest,
when there is no laughter to kneel neath,
when I bare no gift to beg you like me
and there is nothing left
of the roles I’ve roped myself into,
of the masks I’ve twisted my face around
to veil my own identity, Will you…? Will I…?
Will you be able to read
the life lived between the lines,
will you see the soul
that slipped within the shadow?

I wrote it down
but ink fades faster than these pains
that have patterned
themselves into permanent
beneath this skin
I’m now unseasonably
and unceremoniously shedding,
scars that parade now in the spotlight,
in the parts of the play
I have been permitted to perform.
But they are scattered
between the scenes,
broken into awkward acts.
When the curtain finally falls
and I cast off the costume, Will you…? Will I…?

Will you understand what it took to get here?
Will you look further than the festering flesh?

I am more than just skin on the bone.


All words and photographs by Damien B Donnelly

From an earlier poetry series entitled Between the Bone and the Broken



Last night you came calling
like a song to soften the shadows
and found me slipping in between
the silence and the slumber.
Last night you came calling
softly with your whispering words
that filled the longing, soft words
that settled upon my bed like a blanket
to sooth me. Last night, in the sweetened
stillness, you bent down from above,
from far away, from somewhere
beyond the silence and beckoned me
closer with your wisdom, whispering
words, softly like stars in the darkness,
like hope in the loneliness, welcome
words whispered which fell from your lips
and moved amid minds, warm words
that rested softly in between worlds
of sleep and seclusion, that found my ears,
that soothed my shoulders, that caressed
my chest like a breeze, a beautiful breeze,
a beautiful summer breeze that lets you breathe,
that finally enables you to breathe. Last night
you whispered from a world away and I awoke
all the lighter as the night gave way to day.


All words and photographs by Damien B Donnelly

This is a re-post, i’m still on holiday!!!!




Light leaks like water
dripping from the faucet.

You called me baby
before you really knew me
and stopped calling at all,

Light lingers in quite corners
like memories that refuse to flicker,
not acknowledging that the night
has fallen.

We pour over each other
like liquid on a perched desert,
sucking sustenance from substance,
leaching life from any length,

I dived deep down to the bottom
and found only a drought
drowning on the ocean floor.

Were you the desert or the drought?

Was I the ocean or merely drowning?


Light lifts the illusions
we sleep upon beneath the darkness,
when everything is possible
and no one ever parts.

I am not one part us,
I am not one part you,
I am not one or the other,
I am the I that was your baby.


I was light, you said in the midst
of so much weight but you remained
light on love, regardless.

Light leaks like dripping water
from a faucet

onto the broken plates and half eaten hopes
that cannot be either washed or erased.

Light is too light to lift the stains
from the remains of what began
with the words

I want to drown in your eyes.

Light frequently floods
the flaccid lies we feed ourselves
just so we can get from day to night.


All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

This is a re-post



I see

a head
in the frame,
a wall frame,
a half frame,
a half head,
a half of me,
a reflection
of who I am,
of what you see,
part of a picture
framed before finished.

I see

a self I have created,
to show you
only a reflection
of me, myself,
myth before mirror,
mask of the moment.

I see.

You see
what I want you to see.


All words and self portrait by Damien B Donnelly

This is a re post of an older poem as I am busy in holidaying Ireland and editing my novel (Sorry)



Beau, tu sais?
Tu es beau,
c’est vrai.
Non, I say,
ca, c’est pas vrai.
Moi, je sais
d’autre chose,
mais beau?
Non, I say,
je ne suis pas beau.

Fragility I know,
mon ami s’appelle
pour lui
je porte a smile,
comme de vêtements,
like a shield,
mon sourire
est beau,
ca, tu peut dire,
ca, tu peut écrire,
but I am not my smile,
I am the boy behind
and sometimes it hurts,
tu sais? Ca fait mal.

Mais merci, comme même,
c’est beau ce que tu m’a dit,
ce que quelqu’un m’a dit,
c’est beau, mais non,
c’est pas moi; I am…
je suis autre chose.



Beautiful, you know?
You are beautiful,
it’s true.
No, I say,
that, it’s not true.
Me, I know
something else,
but beautiful?
No, I say,
I am not beautiful.

Fragility I know,
my friend’s name is
for him
I wear a smile,
like clothes,
like a shield,
my smile
is beautiful,
that, I can say,
that, I can write,
but I am not my smile,
I am the boy behind
and sometimes it hurts,
you know? It hurts.

Thank you, anyway,
It’s beautiful what you tell me,
that someone tells me,
it’s beautiful, but no,
it’s not me; I am…
I am something else.


All words and self portrait by Damien B. Donnelly

This is a repost of an older poem.