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.


About Sean O'Gorman

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

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