untitled {30/30 – 08/30}

The ugly side of pain cuts our eyes open

until we cry so hard we start to smile.

And our entire bodies become tremors

until we’ve calmed down

and our clothes need readjusting.

I’m still looking for the flawless

through restless nights that were steeped like a tea

where the dreams drove me off cliffs

over and over again

until I woke up.

I don’t want to be in this mind,

where it’s like time gives up its sands

into an hourglass that doesn’t catch what passes through,

it only vaguely records what passes by,

and at first glance it all passes for what thought we knew more about.

This frequency delivers shockwaves of misjudgement

where houses get torn apart

and the cities are all we have left to turn to,

like some self-fulfilling prophesy

that keeps us all whispering when it’s dark.

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About Sean O'Gorman

Spoken Word poet from Ottawa. View all posts by Sean O'Gorman

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