A Time I Stepped Out of My Comfort Zone

In my freshman year I had no friends. I joined the class of 2025 a month late, showing up to school in mid to late October instead of early September like I was supposed to, a fault on the part of the NYCDOE who were totally incompetent and woefully mishandled the enrollment of several kids around my age into school. That one month really made a difference because I was a total pariah when I first showed up. I did everything by myself, even eating lunch alone most days. I only started to really interact with my classmates when I asked to join a group of boys who would eventually come to be my friends in a game of basketball. The rest was history but man, did it ever take some balls on my part to get to that point. I was so fraught with then-unmedicated anxiety that I could hardly bring myself to approach them, teetering on the verge of a meltdown as I grappled with the possibility of being rebuffed and clowned. I did it, though, and eventually I found a clique of sorts. 

More reading of The Color Purple, and an accompanying "found poem" assignment which I don't care for all that much. Poetry just isn't really my thing and it never has been, I much prefer the prose and more rigid structure (I guess) of narrative storytelling. That's not to say I dislike poetry or don't see its merits as a medium for expression; I adore all literature, its just this particular variety which doesn't exactly appeal to my sensibilities. Hopefully my poem isn't cheeks.

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