The strongest walls

There are these things we hold
so close to our hearts
that we can never leave compromised.
It’s the paper-thin glass
that shows our souls
that’s screaming to be vandalized.

It’s just a fucking,
constant salvation
that never knows what it wants.
It’s just that now
has come to this
and it knows just how to flaunt.

We’re left desperate
in the lonely leafs
where our minds only seem composed,
but there are masks to this
where people lie
and it’s friends that get disposed.

I miss the ones
who knew my name
and who stood too strong to tell,
but I know this deep
where even I cant see
they’re at the bottom of a well.

One that never gets used
by human hands
just rats and bugs that spy.
This awful place
without a name
where hatred multiplies.

But it’s just mistakes
that topple over
creating what was known,
like all those things
left to the breeze
that are harmless when alone.

But there’s strength in numbers
that much we can see
once we know we need to count,
cause at that time
it’s then far too late
and we’ve seen their full amount.

Its got me really
just wanting to know
who else might feel this way.
If there are other people
who would love to care
and share what they have to say.

But we’re colliding thoughts
in our passing days
when we have the wrong impression.
We scream when we fight
before falling asleep
having never learned our lessons.

We let it circle
like a heavy mist,
one that rolls across our sight,
then wraps around us
without a care
and finally takes a bite.

How can I think
there’s nothing there
when that looks an interrogation.
It flies at me,
then acts unaware
which leaks to provocation.

It’s like the fight begins
with those who lie
and sell us what we own,
showing us
how they see ourselves
like the things that we’ve outgrown.

It’s a curse we carry
through every day
like a high we cant explain.
Those social walls
around our hearts
meant to shield us from our pain.

We’ve built these things
from the best intentions
to save us from that beast,
that beast of pain
that’s locked outside
and drooling for a feast.

But the walls we’ve built
to keep them out
have really locked them in
and now we’re there
just waiting to feel
that hate behind their grins.

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About Sean O'Gorman

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

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