There is nothing insignificant in walking past someone.
A whole universe just strolled by,
their anxiety caused by that test coming up,
their worldview that differs from yours,
their moments of joy
pure adrenaline
depression
monotony,
their troubles that may trump yours
their Aunt with that terminal disease
or the Dad that's never home,
their mental to-do lists that grow and grow and grow,
their images of reading on that comfy chair,
their time spent by the bonfire,
and their favorite quote that's always in their head.
But we just keep walking despite all there is to see,
and we're thankful for the people that walk by our side,
and share in our moments,
our troubles,
our images,
our time.
Jan 17, 2012
Jan 17, 2012 at 5:56 PM UTC
One of the worst things in life
is realizing that you haven't applied deodorant
in the past 24 hours.
One of the best things in life
is realizing that your deodorant fights odor
FOR 48 HOURS.
Jan 14, 2012
Jan 14, 2012 at 2:45 PM UTC
One of the best things in life
is getting revenge on someone
by walking in their vicinity
and farting
so it looks like they are the guilty party.
One of the worst things in life
is watching an episode of Hoarders
where everything gets all better in the end.
I didn't watch the show so I could watch you get better.
I watched it so I could see you throw a fit
about having to get rid of the old rotting cat skeleton in your basement
because it's "special" to you.
Jan 14, 2012
Jan 14, 2012 at 2:29 PM UTC
One of the best things in life
is being is a super loud and busy coffee shop.
You can hum the song stuck in your head at a moderate volume
without looking like a ******
who hums moderately loudly
in public place.
One of the worst things in life
is having a serious conversation with someone you respect
and discovering they have a quite visible ****** in their nose.
Do you let them know about it?
Awkward.
Jan 14, 2012
Jan 14, 2012 at 2:27 PM UTC
The trip complete there’s nothing left
Save for the souvineirs.
It was a blast, a welcome rest
I’ll think of it for years.
But here I am at LAX
No dream, no cardigan.
I’ll have to wait a hundred years
Just to lift off again.
Don’t get me wrong the airport’s nice,
The smell is odorless?
The chairs, the chairs, Oh god, the chairs:
The source of my unrest.
I’ll sit and sit and try and sleep
but always: no avail.
The strangers stare, don’t offer help
They watch me as I flail.
The pillow doesn’t offer rest
The armrest pokes me, merciless
My mind white-hot and furious
Just calm down.
Relax your self.
It will all be over soon.
LAYOVER
Denied: my only boon.
Jan 10, 2012
Jan 10, 2012 at 6:48 PM UTC
This is a Deep poem.
The sound of it resonates in your Soul.
You can tell it's deep for a couple of reasons:
random words are Capitalized and they shouldn't be and it's weird.
I use words like cacophony and Endless.
I talk about things like Conformity and Pain and Myself.
Can't figure out why that word is italicized? I can't either.
I look at the problems of Society and say "I am going to talk about you so hard right now."
The title of it is confusing and you are trying to figure out "Why? That literally has nothing to do with anything in the poem." And I laugh. Marvel at the deepness.
Some stanzas are
weirdly
shaped
but it's all just part of the
poem's
meaning.
In the moment of silence after reading think about this poem and
how RAW
how REAL
how EMOTIONAL
it is.
Everything necessary for a deep poem is in here.
This is a deep Poem. Just trust me.
Jan 9, 2012
Jan 9, 2012 at 12:31 PM UTC
"Why are we just stopping here? I feel like we're just being lazy."
"No no no, this will be so funny."
-Mayan Calendar Men
Jan 9, 2012
Jan 9, 2012 at 8:19 AM UTC
Yes, I am totes going to turn this assignment in when it's do you think you could give me just like three more days?
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 6:58 PM UTC
I was in an art museum once.
I saw a black and white picture hanging on the wall.
It was of a potato. Nothing else. Just a potato.
I was angry at first. I had just meandered through an exhibit of miniature houses that must have taken hundreds of hours to complete and a crazy amount of attention to detail.
This person took a picture of a potato.
I thought of what my hipster friends would say.
“It’s isn’t just a potato. It’s so much more. It’s art. It probably stands for famine or the Depression or a childhood friend...”
No. It is a picture of a potato.
I thought I would jump on the bandwagon.
So here is my poem:
Potato.
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 6:33 PM UTC
Oh, my dear.
The time we’ve spent together has been the greatest.
I've loved hanging out with you, etc.
But with this new found technology I think we need to talk.
Here’s the deal. There is just not enough time in the day.
Lost is my number one priority right now, as is Weeds, Parks and Rec, and Breaking Bad.
You try to communicate with me at the worst possible times.
My PS3 controller turned off during 30 Rock and now I have to get all uncomfortable and turn it back on.
Can’t you see I’m busy and that I simply cannot answer my phone?
And your solution… Nay. Your “solution” of me simply reading the plots on Wikipedia has cut me to the core and you have crossed the line.
Yes, it would save time. It would also be the worst thing ever.
It’s clear that we are not compatible.
It’s not you, it’s Netflix.
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 5:11 PM UTC