Ourselves

Spaces cover
like awful things
that have yet to show their worth.
They magnify
the right to speak
and the choices that give birth.

I can see this clear
through angry years
that have been spread so very thin,
that everyone dances
and everyone cusses
and no one knows where to begin.

It’s a slip when you hit
that very last step
and can no longer hold your breath.
That timid mind
that’s away from time
that arrives for the final test.

Opening its views
to a room of strangers
who have sharp and watchful eyes.
Those who want
us all to be honest
and to help us realize.

That there is something there
once comforts gone
and we’re left with who we are.
It’s that lonely bit
that loves new things,
but rarely goes too far.

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About Sean O'Gorman

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

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