Just talk

Some claim
to be my friends
through the haze
of pretentious pretending
where you sugar-cote
what you’re about
through your vacant words
that make me shout
and in blatant tones
that I know too well,
you talk to me,
from too far away to see.
Pointing out
what makes you shout
then allowing me
to watch you pout,
or at least picture it
once the lecturer sits
and once again
begins to pester
like the roster
who only look
to know better.
Better than me anyway,
when it comes down
to the way we say
while our words decay
into frantic ears
where ingrown fears
take years
away for nothing.
Sworn
to hold us silent
between what we say
and what we think
and left on the brink
of what’s begun to sink,
where sometimes
what links us together
is what pulls us down.
Where we’re always there,
but reluctant to share
that fare,
that final cost
that’s so quickly lost
that moment
it leaves your hands.

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About Sean O'Gorman

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

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