It rained on my way to school today.
The two, often one-way lane road was many shades darker.
It was sculpted in the typical pattern of sidewalks,
broken only by home garage entrances
branching with gray, flat cement.
I saw dozens of snails as I looked dowb the sidelines I slowly traversed.
Plenty more were in the center, flat and lifeless and crushed by the nonchalant tires rushing to their morning shifts.
I sometimes wonder if I’m a snail when I am walking to school.
Bracing myself for the anxiety and the bullying and the cars, afraid I’m walking too slowly in a rushing world.
But here’s the difference: I do not only come out when it rains.
I am no walking tragedy.
This mess of love and homes and snails and distance is, indeed, a battleground.
But I am no snail, and none of you are four-wheeled monsters that speed through life differently.
See that gray-painted-yellow two-story home with no fence?
I fucking live here.