n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own (The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows)
I passed a boy on the street today.
He shot me a look and then walked away.
There was ice on his jacket and cold in his eyes,
Fingers red and raw as he gripped his coat tight.
Backpack over shoulder, I couldn't help but stare,
Papers dangling out of the zipper, ready to fall in the crisp winter air.
One talked about his issues, some stuff about his hate toward the truth,
Rainbow ribbon on a strand, ready to be removed.
Standing alone in the background as they swiftly depart,
I'll never know what they're thinking, what's going on in that heart.
Quick to assume,
Point fingers,
Take the blame -
Life's too short to get answers
So every face is just the same.
A girl sat at my table just yesterday,
Book in her hand, never saw the title but I bet it's a Shakespearean play.
She had a pen in her hand, tapping on the wood,
Playing a song that I've never heard before.
Thirty seconds later, she realizes I was watching,
Walks away, runs away, never stopping.
Did I scare her?
I'll never know.
She's gone, so what's the point?
Just another person who's only purpose is to be a face.
Ever close your eyes and wonder,
How does someone look at you?
When an eagle flies overhead,
Does it share the same view?
If you raise your hand to lend it,
Who knows what others see
Called too harsh, too impatient
They won't just leave me be.
Nature versus nurture,
We've grown up in different ways,
So every single person really isn't the same.
Still tempted to just pretend,
Look away, don't worry about anyone but your friends.
Guilty.
YOU ARE READING
Thinking About Random Stuff
AcakI just want to write. It's a mess. I like writing. Poetry I guess, who really knows what monster I've created. Deep thoughts and sometimes me trolling myself. Fun.
