The way they look

Quiet consumption’s
while the restless misbehave
and land us all
in a little trouble.
I’m growing
weaker by the day,
looking in the mirror
for something
that’s never been there,
only seeing
who was once
a crying child
and now
I’ll never know.
I’ll never have
what’s in so many others,
or feel
that longing desire
that only comes
from the way we scream.

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About Sean O'Gorman

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

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