10 Minute Poem

Ten minutes worth of thoughts
there’s no way to catch it all,
always been a loud kid?
there has to be some form of commercial that they haven’t thought of yet,
something that would sell to the loud minds,
the ones who have to focus their breath in order to sleep,
the ones who have to close their eyes in order to think
over-stimilus in everyday and we just have to get used to it,
hey, it’s how it’s always been.
hand out, pats shoulder,
I don’t know the significance of that,
always meaning ten things at once
our language so convoluted in touch that we can’t ever truly understand one another,
and you don’t get this poem,
to you it’s bunk,
it’s words,
it’s garbage,
it’s something made of lime jello
or maybe it’s that pink mold that happens when water rots alone.
no matter, it doesn’t matter to you,
and if it does, how could it mean what it does to me?