Mistaken

The hair of the rested,
casual between fingertips
like the waves
that friends make
when the distance has been changed.
I’m staring into the eyes of the smile,
these discouraged outlooks
that are asking
and begging at the same time.
It’s times like these
that I get so scared,
the feeling,
the bruises of partnership
keeping me from knowing
just how simple things can really be.

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About Sean O'Gorman

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

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