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.

Advertisements

About Sean O'Gorman

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

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: