My Room

Is she lonely too?

Or is my callousness too broken

for you?

She never brought me through love

and all of this. Rhyming in dark sunlight

All alone

and alone

beside her eyes
I try to refrain when the door unlocks my room
but incredulous keys

reaches through and leaves me again.

All I want is to leave.

Acting has its own appeal

and it rings off the tounge like time on the moon.
I don’t mind, your

shaking lies

and torrential hate.

Rain on my day when friendly fades.

 

©Dawson Lehmann

2016

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Yo Soy Parte

As good as Spanish wine, I’ve seen

the landscape’s eyes. It’s neither green by the sea

or dry by Madrid but it’s blocked and tiled like

castles. I cannot judge the square of Spaniards.

 

Ciego to culture are my foreign friends. Picturing

them now—

how stuck they are. In their head:

the idea of dejando is worse than yendo.

 

My city shines; but Barcelona is better. Spain—

my dream.

Errante heart;

poderoso experiences.

Yo soy parte de esta.

 

©Dawson Lehmann

2016

 

 

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quiet blue atomosphere.

// at 11am

honourary

poetry comes to life

Mother brought out the slates to clean

and yes, a

Turtle shell hides in hell.

these thoughts become memories, I think.

 

A boy is friends with two best girls

But can’t seem to become

less lonely in the days to come

Because that boy is me

I

                                      Who

                                      We

                                      They— trespassed my heart and burned my brain

 

Oh, this brain on portable trials

For solitude. numb is in pain

but pain goes away.

Feminist cycles. emo misguided

Rhymes are lame, anyway

anywhere

where—a sad ballad of pencils moves

towards a toe on the cliff. Slowly laying face down. So

confused even with the help.

                                     I am becoming

                                     someone

                                     at 11am. but who? //

 

©Dawson Lehman

2016

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can you be my scapegoat?

in my loneliest hour it kills

i should maybe take pills

little blue and forced down tough

bloody chrome and age old love

priceless advice I can’t keep track of

incognito

undecided, though

i say “please don’t go”

My world tattoos earnestly

I should maybe care silently

Pages and stages control satire

Lined blank pages fill this wallowing mind

Sick of being tired does not help the kind

Lavender scents

Dreams and pretense

Wilder circling, feeling less

it’s okay

and there I lay

can you be tired?

Mindless wandering

The feeling of  pondering

Share this with me?

i care so silently

the hills roll quietly

away—please show me.

 

©Dawson Lehmann

2015

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aptitude for attitudes.

A white blank page // and a swelling rage- Mumford and Sons

the leather spine is broken once again. In poetic conversations. my anger resides anonymously. A powerless plasticity.

and as the cell phone rings and flashes. I cower silently. they talk with resentment against my opinions. In this hour of productivity.

my defensiveness is a sorry nature. You’re high tower? Step off. bitterness in anger. Foreshadowing enigma so sour—conveniently.

aptitude for attitudes in ways to empower. Insignificantly.

 

©Dawson Lehmann

2015

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