To the girl upstairs

You have such a pretty voice
and it eases the thoughts that flow.
It soars off lips too soft to touch
and we all just watch you glow.

It leaves us somewhere
in the realm of want
where we’re trying to be ourselves.
It’s something that hints
and crazes minds
where we can only hope to delve.

This is me that’s standing
in the way of light
that’s making it hard to see.
That I am a person
who feels in reaction
of the way you look at me.

Your eyes, they stick
and reach right in
as I wonder what you think.
I wonder things
among many things
as my heart begins to sink.

But you seem a girl
who sees right through
when us men just act like boys,
but there are secrets to
the girls like you
and the things that you enjoy.

I keep thinking of
your favorite things
and how I haven’t got a clue.
I wonder what you do alone
when there’s no one there but you.

Do you draw little things
or read and write
and then keep them to yourself?
Do you hide yourself
in elaborate thoughts
that get left then on a shelf?

But I think you deal
with a constant balance
between an endless gift and curse.
That gift of beauty to everyone’s eyes
has us all now acting worse.

It holds us where
the nice ones freeze
and the bad drip confidence
and it leaves you broken
from human nature
that divides you from the rest.

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About Sean O'Gorman

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

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