Better than me

Smooth skin
and endless hair,
she waits at the door
after hours
where the time stops
and pours into the following day.
From here
you can see the scars,
watching long enough
to see them fade
while the lights come
and stretch out the dark.
Right now
we’re up to date
restless and waiting
like the angry,
just looking for an excuse,
or a reason
for feeling the way they do.


About Sean O'Gorman

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

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