Always Late Poem by Apple Jean Barcena

I woke up early, the sun not too high,
Rushed to the bathroom, half ready to cry.
I thought I'd fix my bed real quick—
But sometimes I skip it, old lazy trick.

Even when morning gives me a head start,
I still end up late—that's the hard part.
It's like my body moves in slow-mo mode,
Dragging my feet down the same old road.

Most days I walk on my way to school,
But then I spot things that just look cool.
A cat on a roof or a bird on a sign—
I stop, I stare, and lose track of time.

Then suddenly I check the clock,
"Oh no, I'm late! "—a mental shock.
I rush down the road, my legs on fire,
Trying to look calm, but I'm a liar.

When I reach the gate, it's always the same,
The anthem plays, and I feel the shame.
I whisper, "Girl, this is your fate—
Waking up early, but still showing up late."

People see me and maybe they say,
"Does she come late every day? "
I act like I'm fine, but deep inside,
I want to turn around and hide.