The five letters

I’ve forgotten
where I’ve started.
Remembering the details,
but not the day,
like all my memories,
only giving in
to what I give myself.
I think the stitching’s
begun to come loose,
seeing my own arms
like the fight,
where words
become bruises
and the last thing
left to heal
was that one word
that made me cry.

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About Sean O'Gorman

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

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