A broken chance

So pathetic
these things that dry,
like drips
once poured,
or changing feelings
when there was nothing there
to begin with.

It’s just the day I’ve had
and the year
that’s in the making.
The way her eyes
rolled through the room,
never really looking at me,
or anything
I might have touched.

Maybe this is just the way
I feel right now,
so quickly rejected,
like air to a collapsing lung,
just pushed out
to float away,
or maybe she’s just really pretty
and I hate
how much
she’ll never want me.


About Sean O'Gorman

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

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