Bad Habit Poem by Imaanah Saleem

She takes her time on a daily.

So much she wishes to do, but nothing gets done.

This is her on the final day,
still plopped in a chair, in front of a wide screen with her fingers placed on the keys.

Her actions are a wide reflection of the past.

As time goes on, she becomes distracted by her senses.

Paranoia leads her to believe that she is being watched—
talked about.

The whispers and the giggles draw her eyes to the crowd far behind her.

The clock above the crowd chases her eyes back to the computer before her.

Nervousness causes her to swallow her spit.

Some people walk near her;
pass her by.

Others walk near,
and stay close.

She smells some perfume wandering off some girls clothing,
and feels a brush of wind coming from a boy shaking something off his jacket.

Useful thoughts come to her mind only once it is time to leave.

Disappointed, she stands, packs her things, and heads to class.

What is it about the last minutes?

They draw her like the light sucking inquisitive bugs.

She knows what'll happen when she gets too close.

Still, she goes.

Thus—
Consequences.

Oh,
Oh!
The sting.

At home she takes a look in an actual mirror.

She snarls at me.