I walk up to the counter ready to place an order to go. With coffee and cookie in tow, i head to my favorite spot and get ready for the show. 3..2..1 let's go! What's the show you ask? I don't know! It's different every day and plays whether the sky is blue or gray. It could be a traffic jam, a man trying to wash people's cars, someone getting arrested, or even a guy in a costume saying he's an alien from mars. Whatever plays that day, it never gets old. I get to learn about the people of my city while staying out of the cold
My 50th poem! This poem was inspired by someone suggesting writing a poem about something you would see in a coffee shop.
I wonder, Do you hold others To the same exacting standard As your razor-sharp bangs? Is that why I've never Heard your voice? Why I've never seen your mouth Form any other expression than that Pretty, perfect grimace? "You have beautiful eyes," I want to say; But they remain downcast, Accentuating your general Aura of discomfort.
From the back of the line— Well, second to the back— I see her there; She is beautiful: Piercing blue eyes, Wavy brunette, Sharp, cute nose, Striking chin; She is beautiful Like the other two she is with— Yet with the melancholy in her jewel-eyes, More so.
She is much prettier Than your average third-wheel; And yet there she stands, Waving a dismissive hand At the offer of her two friends— A couple, hands all over each other; It is difficult to tell Whose hands are whose— To pay for her coffee; She pays for her own.
See her? With the impeccable taste in fashion? She's top of her class in calculus. You probably didn't know that. See him? With the fearless glint in his eye? He's studying science, but he has the soul of a poet. Tests lie. See her? Buried behind a stack of books nine tall and three deep? She's terrified that she'll get a B, because, to her, that's failing. See him? Museum-quality doodles and red ink decorate his papers. He'll be president one day, if he can find something that he loves. See me? No, actually you probably don't see me. Why would you? I've managed to dangle from the rim of the outskirts of life so far. Someone once told me that seeing gifts is a gift itself. Maybe it's true. But, didn't they ever tell you that geniuses doubt themselves, too? That we doubt ourselves most of all?
Your story is just as important as the ones all around you.