A poem about someone who thinks they are being watched by a mysterious boy...


1. Afraid of being followed...


I knew I was being followed, I knew I was being watched,

But if I started running, I knew he wouldn’t stop.

His hands were in his pockets, the hood over his head,

Who knew what could happen next, what is there to dread.

No one was here to stop him, and I couldn’t shout for help,

The night was dark and the streets were silent, No one would hear my yelp.

A bus pulled up on the road nearby but I didn’t need a lift,

The footsteps behind me were shuffling quicker, this bus I wouldn’t miss.

I walked faster hoping he wouldn’t catch up,

But he also sped up, just my luck…

The bus’ engine started, the footsteps behind me darted,

and he hopped on the bus.

I stood there watching, the boy and his mates,

I felt like a fool, paranoia was something I myself did create.

But now I know that late at night, anyone with a hood,

Is just an ordinary being, so don't consider the would, should or could.


I wasn’t being followed, I wasn’t being watched,

I wouldn’t start running, definitely not.


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