Writers' Lament

By, J. Lynn Dickson

A writer is seldom without expression
Without a fragment of thought
Sewn together in a line of truth
And still I sit with a needle in my hand
Without string to join emotions and words
With shaking hands I try to lace inspiration
But misty vision prevents the grasp
Stitch by stitch I unravel
Memories pull on the heart, on the strands of me
And rest in a knotted ball at my feet
My quilt is missing color, lackluster and threadbare
Shades pale in disillusion
My soul slips between its folds
Hides in its creases of familiar tears
And disappears

My Mission

As a writer I don't seek to educate, which is perhaps unusual. Rather I make attempts to connect my readers to myself, and hopefully, in the process, to themselves.

As a child I was a voracious reader. Opening the pages of a book was akin to climbing atop a magical carpet that could whisk me away from the painful existence of my life and transport me to a place without fear. Reading showed me how easily a mind can become immersed in the words of another, how powerful the force of someone else's thoughts really are. I learned that my experiences were not wordless balls of misery, but that they could indeed be written, if not spoken.

The affects of that knowledge are too far reaching to encompass in this blog, but I can say that it is that lesson that began to break the chains of silence, and that over the years, my words have continued to serve as a method for telling all of those things I can't speak.

It is my hope that in my words you find your own voice, whether spoken or written. I also hope that perhaps you will find a source of motivation and strength to continue in whatever trials you are facing in your own life.

I invite you to visit this page often, leave comments, questions, feedback (something you like? something you don't like?) or anything else that it is your heart. If you feel a personal email is more appropriate, you will find my email address in my profile. Please do not hesitate to use it.

~J. Lynn

You- poem

By, J. Lynn Dickson


You

Waving hands clenched in fists
Shouting obscenities
Whore, bitch, slut
Arms slit open for the world to see
Hatred seeping from the wounds self inflicted

Trapping me in the corner, knife in hand
Promising to end my life
Spewing venom in the spit that hit my face

Throwing me away, into the woods
To the rapists that pushed me down
Taking pleasure in my pain


Packing my suitcase, T-shirts and shame
Driving me to the rubber room
Claiming my insanity to protect your own


You

Thought the truth would fade
Hid behind the pills and distance
Concealed yourself in artificial madness

Lie to save yourself
Tell stories to protect your fairytale
Forgot that I’m no longer a child

You

Cannot break me
Did not destroy me
Will never know who I've become

In spite of you.