she was a brooklyn babe
he was a camden kid
she keeps it ghetto
yet rocks it hard
he buys what he likes
tries to look comfortable
by being comfortable
like that ever works
he's a poet and
feels bad
for trying to confine
her beauty to a rhyme.
he's looking for the right words.
but can't find them
he's too busy looking at her.
she stops talking.
he gazes for a split second
and mentally jumps saying
"yeah!" fuck. damn. weak man,
weak. sunset upon the dirtiest river
and an orange reflection
somehow compliments her
to the left the sun then sleeps
to the right the street lamp beams
and order is restored
and just like that
damn.
he's in love again.
and he can tell
she isn't.
and fuck. she's reading this
and i know my life
is as real as it gets
no way was it- this... or.. that. there was no hint.
im not sure. im always so scared of swimming deep again
right after recovering from my last dive into that river.
because all rivers of love lead to that great sea of pain.
and i promised not to feel hurt again.
i wish i could trust myself.
maybe i should write 'do not cut' on the inside of my arm
to advertise others a history of self harm.
yet i feel more at home in hurt and feel a fear of being calm.
because im embarrassed to feel relaxed when im so far way
from the riches. the riches.
not a word has been changed. this is me. this is sean mahoney. pure and true. im putting myself out there
for all of you. just so you can learn, know
