Being Punched in the Face

I’ve known the look of blood in my eyes,

it’s a sign of my own self worth

while I test this thing they call grit (that I don’t think even exists).

The way I see it

there will always be insecurities,

that flow of self-consciousness that leaks like sweat

as empty music repeats itself through different voices

and that last lingering feeling

keeps me awake, waiting for more.


About Sean O'Gorman

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

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