The Tripping Point
I was walking along,
Humming along,
Walking so cool,
Walking so strong.
Until I felt something—
Small, hard, round—
Tumbling and turning
Each time I stepped down.
That’s when I felt you rolling.
That’s when I finally knew:
You are the pesky little pebble
That lives inside my shoe.
It was at that moment,
It was at that time,
I had to stop walking—
You tripped up my rhythm,
You stepped on my rhyme.
There was nowhere to run.
There was no more to hum.
You are a pesky little pebble
The size of a crumb.
Humming along,
Walking so cool,
Walking so strong.
Until I felt something—
Small, hard, round—
Tumbling and turning
Each time I stepped down.
That’s when I felt you rolling.
That’s when I finally knew:
You are the pesky little pebble
That lives inside my shoe.
It was at that moment,
It was at that time,
I had to stop walking—
You tripped up my rhythm,
You stepped on my rhyme.
There was nowhere to run.
There was no more to hum.
You are a pesky little pebble
The size of a crumb.
This poem is copyright (©) Mantha SL 2026
About the Writer
Mantha SL
Mantha SL is the pen name of Samantha Liistro, a designer who spends her days making homes and her evenings writing poems about finding them. Her poems arrive almost faster than she can write them down, and every one is tested out loud on friends and family before it is allowed to stay. These are her first published poems from a linked collection called Six Left Turns: Poems for Finding Your Way Home.
