By Brianna Correy
Does the slow pace in my step, as I glance
awkwardly around the room,
Make you uncomfortable? or is it the way
I open and close my mouth,
To release a nervous breath of air?
Does my short, clumsy, stutter,
Irritate you any more than it does me? or
does frequent shaking of my hands and feet
Stress you out, as it does many others?
Would you despise my slow checkered reality,
Or are you colorblind to the grays?
I fear you're far ahead, ahead of what?
One step, Two step, Three, do I continue?
With your pink and yellows, it's taken me this long to get here,
In front of you
All I can say is: I have a question?
