I don’t consider myself a poet (and impostor syndrome makes it difficult for me to even call myself a writer), but every once in awhile I pen something a little more lyrical than the listicles, short stories and life experiences I typically write.

Usually, inspiration hits when I’m on the road. Here’s a travel poem I wrote while watching tourists snap photos in Asia. I’d love to hear what you think – comment below!

Get off the bus,
take 287 selfies
Back on the bus
leaves in 5 minutes
bathroom stop
10 minutes
Streams of people; river selfie
Look here stand there
Snap snap snap
2 minutes
Bus is leaving, follow the
okay we will eat here, file in
Order this
Let’s go
Did you see that?
No, but I got a picture
I can look at it later
On my computer
Up the contrast for Instagram
What should I caption it?
The best time of my life
Classic back-shot
Yoga pose
Sunlight just right
But who really gives a shit?
Not you.
You’ve been everywhere
But seen nothing at all.

That’s not travelling.

Travelling is
Having that two-hour conversation about politics, religion and cultural differences
Beneath the leafy palm trees that hold
Morning dew like raindrops when the sun comes up
Travelling is
Tucking into the hanock to sample soju on a whim
Lost down the old decrepit alleys and in the subway and just
Breathing
Travelling is
Sitting beneath the shade of the crinkling maple tree as the wind plays with the golden sunshine
Pressing two strands of grass between your fingertips
Travelling is
That pick-up game of soccer with the neighbourhood kids
Who don’t speak a lick of English, but it doesn’t matter, because
Travelling is
Sitting on the filthy city curb beneath the glassy horizon and watching as everyone else
Runs around with their heads cut off
Trying to fit it all in
Except they miss

All of it.