Movement

I feel awake in the mornings

when the sun shines earlier every day

and across the floorboards of my bedroom

I walk with careful feet over dormant splinters

that’re there, just waiting for sliding toes.

But sometimes, I walk on my heels

like I were still trying to move backwards

with a back fit for a wall

strong enough to hold me standing

but all this just leaves me wanting to move forward.

I express through progress and digress through excess

and every time I try to move too fast

I find myself lasting only as long as my legs can hold me,

stepping in strides that swing like a grading curve

over all the directions I could’ve,

or maybe should,  or

shouldn’t have taken.

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About Sean O'Gorman

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

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