Heavy. Duty.
Responsibility is weighty.
Weighs on the burdens,
on the burdens that mount.
How the distance mounts over
the months. The years. The tears.
The fears. The identities.
The identities we partake in,
we personas we put on,
we pretend to, we play with,
the personalities
we scrub away to start again.
Once again. Heavy. Duty.
The responsibility of owning
the ownership,
of always ending up
on our own. Heavy.
Shedding parts of ourselves
like snake skin, too thin to shake.
Thin are layers we’re left with,
the leachers leach their lot
and leave us with little.
Little are the layers now.
Lighter. But Heavy.
The Duty.
Responsibility is heavy
in the hands of just one.
In hearts not always held.


All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

From an earlier series of poems entitled Between the Bone and the Broken



I had a hand 

in every bone 

that was broken 

on this body.

I had a hold

of every hack

that was heaped

into this heart.

I held that hand

while thinking of another 

once forgotten

before imagining someone else

I hadn’t even met,

as you watched out the window

as connection passed you by.

We are not broken by others,

it all depends on how willing

we are to bend, be bent

or play blind.

All words and drawings by Damien B. Donnelly


We were meant to be nothing more
than the compliment to you,
calm and considerate,
not the conqueror;
covetous and carnal.

We were meant to be nothing more
than the guardian of you,
grateful and gracious,
not just gluttony
grounded in greed.

We were meant to be nothing more
than the homemaker in you,
humble and harmonious,
not all harmful,
hungry and hoggish.

We were meant to see the beauty
and not become the beast.

All Words and Photographs and Watercolour by Damien B. Donnelly

Photograph taken in Balmoral, Scotland.