When that little bit of sunlight
makes its way through our curtains
we all become certain
that our dreams have ended,
because we don’t pretend
we’ve only pretended
and in our day-to-day miracles
we abuse what pushes us forward
by always leaning back
with just enough slack
to get back
to the way things were.

Now I’ve started
on the martyred road of paying attention,
where owing frustrations
leaks out our ears
with the pounding headaches
and the sounds of heartbreaks
that takes us so long to get over
and to recover
from these things that get stuck in our heads,
like those childish dreads
of future dreams breaking
where what seems like stardust
is only what we must do
just to survive.

Now I’m awake
and about to partake
in the fence I’m standing on,
between the grip and the grope
of my ambitions.
These outlandish conditions
where beliefs don’t land
they drop past particles and obstacles
that look like they’re the ones moving,
and like the articles that are written, but never read,
I’m lifted along with thoughts that’ve bled
like dreaming my dreams
only to myself
with a sewn-tight mouth
that’s known better words, but cant say them anymore.
And I catch myself accepting the excuses
and corrupting the muses
that’ve honestly loved me.
And I’m here,
alive to say the least,
but still ready to compete
and with an army of peace-keepers
I kneecap my insecurities
so they cant follow me into the days that I take by storm.
And from societie’s norms
I conform only to my own desires
as those who conspire
only smash their faces into the ones they’re trying to kiss
and from this bliss
they play looks
like an arcade game.
One that makes them feel the same
as those beasts to be tamed
who only drool over the things they want.

Now what daunts me
is that’s not me.
I want to focus on what gets me out of bed,
not what makes me want to stay there
but to be fair
thinking this way
is like walking up a giant flight of stairs
where the signs say beware
of those who’re coming back down.

And if we’d lighten up a bit
we’d see that there is room to breathe
and we could leave
those thoughts that attract us
like flies to the flame
and we can again focus
on all those things
that were once too small to matter.


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: Logo

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

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ 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 )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: