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.

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.

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.

"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

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?

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.

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.

We lay awake sometimes, staring at the ceiling.
But not really at the ceiling.  Our minds are running
Thinking of how we can change the world tomorrow.
We'll make posters get signatures and do that one thing everyday.
Starting tomorrow.
The adrenaline pumps and makes it hard to sleep.
The possibilities are literally endless.
Oh, the things we can do tomorrow.
Then we wake up,
And everything seems so much lamer than it did the night before.