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    Lynn Kim Do

    Lynn Kim Do may be the first fashionista to define and coin the term Neckbreakin’ Style but she is certainly not the only person that this term encompasses. Lynn takes inspiration from the street, from the mundane and thus her extraordinary everyday experiences, and presents it rawly along with visuals and personal style. This is a platform beyond personal style. It is a space of personal experiences. Lynn Do creates a platform that curates her very honest, sometimes too honest, stories called "Street Talk" with style that is also uniquely raw. Having footprints all over the United States, her view of fashion can not be defined by one location or even one style except one - streetwear. She believes in minimal and clean streetwear without losing all the attitude and sass with it. Her visual and production expertise has accumulated many highly recognized repertoire of projects with clients like Revlon and Urban Outfitters. She has been featured on Nylon.com, The New York Times, and WWD to name a few. If you ask her though, her biggest personal achievement is surviving a year lease in a six floor walk-up NYC apartment.

    Blue | | Poetry by Lynn Kim Do






    Blue has been my favorite color for awhile now. The only way I can really explain it is by sharing my own personal writing. I've only realized how intricate tied I am to this color by the way it weaves in and makes an appearance in some of my writing. This is quite an intimate piece of work. I barely call it poetry. It is a series of words in thoughtful and careful sequence that I rarely share to people. It's a series of sentences that explicitly a thought that I'm dwelling in. Hold the finger snaps, please!
      



    Tory Burch - Sunglass Hut // Blue Wool Cape - Moschino // Black Crop Top - Urban Outfitters //  Blue Fur Vest // Rose Velvet Bottoms - Bebe 



    Blue
    by Lynn Kim Do


    If you are hope, you are a wick waiting to be lit. Why be hope when you can be light. In spectrums of colors. But I prefer to be blue. Right in the center of the flame, right where it hurts, where it's beautiful.

    ***

    All but blue flames exist inside me. You, you burn. So fast. The pain so vast. You'll doubt my participation. You'll blame the sun. When I was burning in between the tips of your fingers. Creating ash from your strands of hair. Kerosene leaking from my mouth to yours. Light it with my tongue. Until you rise from the dead, a grand Phoenix. And I'll ride you. 

    ***

    When the flame makes it bitter to live inside your own flesh. When the light feels darker than the back of your favorite eyelids. When it becomes unrecognizable and you can barely use it to describe the sky you always knew. 
    Blue. I finally understand why we bleed blue.



    Photos by Scott Brasher








    Blue has been my favorite color for awhile now. The only way I can really explain it is by sharing my own personal writing. I've only realized how intricate tied I am to this color by the way it weaves in and makes an appearance in some of my writing. This is quite an intimate piece of work. I barely call it poetry. It is a series of words in thoughtful and careful sequence that I rarely share to people. It's a series of sentences that explicitly a thought that I'm dwelling in. Hold the finger snaps, please!
      



    Tory Burch - Sunglass Hut // Blue Wool Cape - Moschino // Black Crop Top - Urban Outfitters //  Blue Fur Vest // Rose Velvet Bottoms - Bebe 



    Blue
    by Lynn Kim Do


    If you are hope, you are a wick waiting to be lit. Why be hope when you can be light. In spectrums of colors. But I prefer to be blue. Right in the center of the flame, right where it hurts, where it's beautiful.

    ***

    All but blue flames exist inside me. You, you burn. So fast. The pain so vast. You'll doubt my participation. You'll blame the sun. When I was burning in between the tips of your fingers. Creating ash from your strands of hair. Kerosene leaking from my mouth to yours. Light it with my tongue. Until you rise from the dead, a grand Phoenix. And I'll ride you. 

    ***

    When the flame makes it bitter to live inside your own flesh. When the light feels darker than the back of your favorite eyelids. When it becomes unrecognizable and you can barely use it to describe the sky you always knew. 
    Blue. I finally understand why we bleed blue.



    Photos by Scott Brasher



    . November 12, 2015 .