Altered truth

I want a healthy view of life,
one that speaks to who I am.
That person who still falls asleep
when it’s just because I can.

There are important things
that imply their status
and they flow on absent minds.
They leave remarks
about the shame of pain
and advice for how to bind.
Bind their hands
like they did to mine
on that crazy older night.
Those burning things
that kept my dreams
in the final realm of fright.

But there are ways to know
before such actions
so we can watch what happens then,
watch for what
they fear we’ll see
and the ways that they offend.

Because I know they’ll run
their lonely mouths tired
with the evil things they say.
Their better versions
of our true stories
being all they can relay.

They’ll switch things over
from pasted words
that were broken from the beginning.
They picked them up
from what was thrown away
cause they can only think of winning.

I find I hate myself
when I hear their words
and I know that the truths left out.
I become someone
that hears, but drifts
through an endless maze of doubt.

So what should we believe
when the voices come
and begin to sound the same?
Those sharper ones
who speak with strength,
like it were all some stupid game.

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About Sean O'Gorman

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

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