- Olivia Evola
I am sneakered by you.
Each idea I run with,
like a runner sprinting on a track.
My thoughts are stopped,
like I have reached the finish line. 5
I am tripped with the laces you utter, reminding me that I am wrong.
I can hear the sole of your voice creeping with doubt,
as the footprints of your thoughts correct the prints of mine.