Beautiful Disaster

Walking To Class

I hate when people
Walk behind me
Because I fear
That I impede
Their progress
That I am in the way
And too slow
And taking up
Way too much space
I wonder what they think
As  they look
Upon my swollen book bag
Cursing me under their breath
As I stop to watch a squirrel
Nervously scamper up a tree
Catching them off guard
When I begin mumbling
To myself
Or perhaps all that
Is understandable
Until I begin to debate
With myself.
Slowly ambling
Body shifting
From left to right
Pausing to kick a pebble
Counting each step
Between cracks
Eyes glued on the sidewalk
So I don't make  eye contact
When they busily
Hurry past me.

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