I'm sitting and I'm waiting 

I'm just waiting 

and there are people around me 

whispering amongst themselves 

as if everything is okay. 

 

I cannot figure out 

why they are here 

and where they are going to 

back to their lives 

as if it's home to them.

 

No one is beautiful 

just plain and average 

not like in magazines

but somewhere I guess

someone loves them. 

 

Some walk past me

as if I'm not there 

but they aren't real to me

because I do not know 

who they are. 

 

They don't know me 

as if I'm not real 

as if the clouds aren't real

as if the ground isn't there 

below the wings of the airplane.

 

They can't hear me 

as if I'm silent 

but I can hear melodies 

through the headphones 

a few thousand feet in the air.

 

I'm writing a poem

without rhyme 

to figure out who I am 

on this airplane 

heading to home. 

 

I wonder if these people 

aside from my family 

call it home too

or if they are just visiting 

and will go back. 

 

I think I'll stay 

and keep wondering why 

no one is as beautiful as they seem 

but that someone thinks they are somewhere.

 

I hope that someone 

can think that 

about me in the place I call home 

and I can be beautiful 

to that one person 

 

And maybe we are all real 

if everything is right 

and everyone is home 

and everyone is happy 

and things will be okay. 

 

Someday I think we'll all be beautiful. 

Someday I think we'll all be real.