Creeper

I'm a creeper.

I listen intently but never join in.

I sit in the back so I don't miss anything.

I'm invisible.

I have a name but don't want you to know it.

I prefer you know little about me, let me figure you out first.

I'm trying to stop.

I want to join your conversation, instead of dropping eaves.

I would love to tell you my opinion, if only I had one.

I'm training myself.

I tell myself to remember: the color of your eyes, the look on your face, the way you duck your head or start to giggle and what causes you to do so.

I want to know everything about you.

Oh, and one more thing.

I see you,

In the back row, hood pulled up, smirking at what's happening three seats in front of you and two to the side.

How could I miss it?

You're a creeper.

This poem is about: 
Me

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