something about checkered ties & purple hearts clenches a part of my hand that keeps me from writing to you and i cant even blame the snow for falling on a saturday bc God knows something needs to come down on us and it cant be our blue realizations or late movie night plans 76 days post April fools where once again the scar on your right hand will remind me of vicious wolves who only know fear and full moons, something we never talk about bc Halloween comes in a different month than Christmas & apparently that's an issue about advent calendars, not mood swings so constant you'll burn your pinky on a tray of bruschetta toast 4 times & react differently each time the heat wants to darken your skin unkindly

i didn't want to paint i just wanted to be great at something so i unghosted my soul, told her to go pick 6 roses out of the garden of my love for the mountains & i pierced my nose w a silver needle that was so sharp i could hear your velvet voice again & it call came back to me in little waves of blue pain and sunflower energy on lined sheets of paper sort of like this one with an orange accent I had to find in Rome behind motorcycles & burnt coffee w out the bitter memory of sugar cookies, only the ones we ate on long weekends by the beach beside the ways in which the sun told us the stories of sunken ships & waves the moon wanted to create at 2:11am on the least windiest days. i didnt bring my brushes w me, but a skateboard and a glass house were enough for a disappearing act & 3 conversations w a wall and spray paint can

i tie and retie my hair w the same scrunchie that you gave me 5.6 years ago hoping your cinnamon eyes will return my gaze but the purple clouds at sunrise can't and won't blow out the fire in my bones fast enough to look away, the railing on our front porch is falling apart for the first time since we bought this haunted place but I don't have the guts to get out my silver hammer and whack the nails back into place the way you carry around a loaded heart & never hit my love out of bounds, but still past the field where we used to play baseball as kids, the same bases that I fell for something about you in black & white nights red lipstick stains & dainty gifts, we didn't need to watch fireworks every 1st of July because we had sparks inside of us but we did anyway, I'm not sure why, & it was till 2:13 every night that you still had me on your mind till the next phone call in off white and spearmints green

-you rip up your coffee cups after you're done with the drink just as an excuse to stay and talk longer yet the thought of spending time unchaining your fears fights the red in you to conquer them in groups of 2
-did you forget that you were once an artist who could move mountains into valleys just to brush the snow off them?
-whoever set fire to the blooming flowers you holistically grew in your heart was only doing you a careful favour because you never liked orange roses and now you're watering glowing daises that suit your vibe anyway
-brick walls aren't as blocked off as they seem but the cement keeps them together like the sky is willing to do for you
-stop picking apart the petals on peonies and maybe the stars will stop picking pieces of peace off of you

roses peek through the cracks in your soul, your heart is overflowing with peace but your eyes remain dark brown in the sunset, is it because your flight to italy was cancelled in the middle of your worst year or because the constellations that you kept shining in your right palm; the hand with the zigzag scar from your last rollerblading accident, were given to someone who didn't even know that thorns came with soft petals too

the shore washed up and fell right into your rose filled bones and all that your said was that you're changing your heart again, i dont understand why your favourite flowers are daisies but your hair smells like lemons and i guess yellow burns in your eyes, every time the sun sets to golden tones you pack your bags to run again but nighttime will come faster than that 9:07 train and you'll remember your date with the moon's craters and spray paint cans that hurt your back with the weight, except that graffiti doesn't have much weight to you anymore, paint over the scars, under the bruises, and lick your lips in the light of a streetlamp; there's a ripped up parking ticket in your back pocket & 19 ways out of that burning silver feeling that you can solve in this city by noon tomorrow

you couldn't touch the sky with your fears but roses turned white in your cold hands, did you untuck your shirt because you were tired of formality
or because the rebel in your eyes started fires in your best friends veins so often that he took the bars from the town's jail and handed them to you to re-build into your own castles, do you think you'll be barred forever that way? the tattoo on the back of your right shoulder reads, 'patience; im going to change my heart again' but the rings in your iris tell me that there is no such thing as waiting [for you] & that you've always been chasing the sun
your wrists shake with the hype that flows through your fiery blood but all you do is smile and keep driving down the desserts of arizona so the moon cant keep up

you tried to drown your fears in sunshine but the red thread in the corner of your oversized sweater caught on the moon's crescent instead and the rose petals that you were keeping up your sleeves fell out and onto the garden of peonies your best friend was growing on her front lawn, its not nice to constantly be running from forest green comfort but the only other option is staying where the gold is and thats something you never learned to do, yet
maps have followed you recklessly
on the roads that you've ripped through and eventually you'll find yourself climbing taller fences to be back where the purple of the last February evening wrapped your impulsive body tight, though you'll never be found how you were last left

blue roses and unzipped jackets, looks like the cold doesn't want to enter your skin again so its painting guesses on the corner of silver st. and goat lane, you thought that saying its all good baby baby would make your crown look bigger but the diamonds fell off instead

I am what you’re alive for, and I’ll let you start over,
And over again, before the last chance you have is done.
My name is life; though it’s not always fun.
I live in your veins and breathe in your heart,
My name is passion, and I am very smart.
You were born to use me,
To live by me,
And to inhale and exhale me.
My name is love.
You can’t run away from passion, life, or love
But this might inspire you to bring out what’s underneath to above,
To let your inner Van Gogh out or maybe, just your soul.
Pleasing anything and everything but you,
They made it your ultimate life goal.
You may still think that’s exactly what you want.
Engineers, lawyers, doctors with crazy fonts.
But you come to think that maybe that’s not for everyone…
And for that, they all make fun.
But maybe, you’re good for something that doesn’t need you
To memorize formulas, letters, numbers, symbols alike, it’s true!
Maybe you, need to be memorizing shapes, lines, colours, and words that rhyme.
Despite the way no one else has your kind of flow, it isn’t a crime.
Don’t worry about judges or surgeons, with their fancy titles and big pay,
They have their own light, their own great ways.
If you’re better with a paintbrush, then stroke away, or splash, or stipple.
Anything to show them that art is not that simple.
Its takes courage to speak out what the world craves to be said,
If one doesn’t write books or poems, there’s nothing that will be left to be read,
And children rely on stories, it’s what keeps them innocent.
It also keeps the rest of us wide awake and vigilant.
So the world bursts at the seams,
With people aching to fulfill their vibrant dreams,
Of being the ones who can finally fly; oh so very high.
The world is bursting at the seams,
With people craving to feel the colours in ungrouped teams,
That pop and crackle and spark when touched.
Turn into stardust and glitter but in the hands, are tightly clutched.
But there might be a need of people,
Who love dandelions more than roses,
Who stand strong, even as every door closes.
Who play with ice rather than fire,
Who from their risk takings, would never retire.
And who rather they feel the softness of the sand
When the wind blows it around on the beach in their hands,
Than the blankets that they sleep on.
Who look to clean the chessboard of their enemy’s pawns.
But what we see is mainly what we hope to find,
And if we look at life with love we can find it to be amiable and kind,
One can achieve their goals if they let go of the headaches for a second.
Impossibilities should never be counted, thought of, or reckoned.
So breathe; you don’t have much left of your fast travelling time line.
Recite; you don’t have much air left but your voice is just so fine.
Write and your fingertips will never stop screaming,
Just like if you run, you will never stop beaming,
Never hitting the pavement with the steps of wraith.
And if you can feel... then you will always keep close faith.
You have not badly slipped, or played the wrong note.
Because even in the midst of beautiful gardens,
Weeds were never remote.
And then you walk through the streets of love.
Hand in hand with a culture fitting you like a glove,
As the smoke draws you in a feeling not unfit;
Feelings your heart clenches; at least you can hold it.
Some have lost this rare, valued treasure,
In the waters of functions and formulas, always measured.
So never swim with them if you are one to tight line,
At the end of your life you can say, “This life is mine.”
Always one to dream, never one to follow
Never let them tell you the mind is hollow
Always experiment, don’t be the child of a shadow.
And they put art at the lowest hierarchies,
Displacing the solution to locks on creativity.
Saying art is nothing but they don’t know where we’d be
Had shapes not evolved and paintbrushes never
Met paint and gave birth to an image you can see.
That you mixed and threw together, you’re clever,
No canvas should ever be empty,
Odd reasons say still… there are plenty.
And only an artist can solve that problem.
Breathing life into objects, one can make into an emblem.
So now what you do without math, science, or neither?
Yeh… I wouldn’t give up either.

you never left the warm feelings that floated into the veins under my skin, the ink that stained permanent marks a lot like your name did my mind, I remember how your eyes looked in the sun, on Sunday mornings you preferred pancakes for breakfast - ones with white chocolate chips - and you left on a windy winter afternoon for an acting gig you 'couldn't pass up', I guess you weren't that good if i could almost smell the seconds that you'd close the door shut; your scent once owned the whole place. I always knew mountains came with valleys but I didn't know that we were at the edge of the country where the city begins and another time in my life unfolds.

sinking in tides that like the blue nights you spent smoking out dream after nightmare until they turned to ashes of shattered glass bottles that once held your dusty peace together only distracted you from the haze left behind from your speed boat of orange memories and endless applauses of accomplishments, you are not a failure just because the ink in your pen ran out of rhymes, you are a full solar system with planets to call your own, the ropes at each moon are yours to call home and no amount of broken silhouettes will track anyone to your tents of stocked up dried out flowers, even when your heart is being licked with cold flames of metals you still cant fail to pronounce with the back of your scorching tongue

The night you zipped the moon open
All you felt was the silver wind sharp on
Your face and a hand around your left
Ankle to hold you in place from running again
Two weeks and a couple of swallowed rocks
Later you're telling lies soaked in dim
Constellations that bleed the sun and
You know I can tell.
The ways you begged your hands to let up the
Grip of danger is still not replaced by caution but
The road is not as purple and gold and this lets
The waves breathe a little easier at night
Colour your skin in stories that sound like
Orange nights and metallic spray paint
So that the clouds in your stomach will be
Able to guide the rough waters close to
Home but nothing about you is home
And nothing about me belongs to one

It is He who turned the words that echoed through walls of built up ego into towers of strength made of faith and prayer, obedience and consciousness – the best architecture knew I needed a blueprint that wasn’t covered in mustard coloured stains and red pen marks that led to nowhere good
2. It is He who untangled the blackening shackles from ties to this sticky, messy mirage of a world entwined to these wrists and instead taught to braid ladders to the heavens on its way to freedom which looks like His love, love that is eternity and eternity that isn’t an illusion; it’s a vision
3. It is He who, through every turn, slip and fault, stayed closer than the jugular vein and fished the despair right out of this muddled pond the colour of dust and rusting metals, teaching to swim and thank for the air filled lungs taken for granted even when I'm drowning, the water became clearer and the air cleaner and He still held His hand out, better than a lifeguard, He’s a guard for life
4. And now I'm trying to find another way to Him in these blessed nights to heal this aching splintered heart and solid iron fists made from fires only the roughest wood could spark up; in His name does the stomach starve so the soul can feed, where the toughest times are handled with sincerity, everyone becomes family, and strength is found underneath His love, overtop the rest of the world

Twilight mornings remind me of coffee tables and study notes
Sometimes I smell spray paint through open windows,
Even on the nights I ditch my cans for insanity
Breakfast-less mornings are recipes for undone laundry
And unturned plant leaves and un-salted tears
One morning, the porch’s railings crumbled in my hands
And fell over on the splattered rug sitting outside the green door
That I stumbled over and waited for fresh milk deliveries on
I find unlit cigarettes on the windowsill that taught me patience
And tornados in a mind that is too beautiful for damaged thoughts
I press petals over open cuts that never get the chance to bleed
And ice the bruises that refuse to turn green
But beside laptop keys that spell out what they know
I hit dlt over and over again; that’s what I know
The only other thing besides surety strung on tree branches
Are orange leaves sharp suns coated in silver
The shark tooth hanging from a string around my neck
Was only a metaphor that caused trouble

Don’t close your eyes when the stars come tripping after you, they’re just searching for a grey home inside the silver coated palaces you set on fire, lit up and burned down
- When you’re scared to look through screens of eggshell white because they remind you of ripped up, closed doors and veined leaves, punch through them, they won’t be controlling forever
- At night Saturn’s moons stare down on homes like the one you have inside your head to make sure you're drinking enough almond milk and brushing your strong teeth, don’t be scared of blue security and golden warmth just because it can be unfamiliar and far
- Even birds will fly from you in winged directions you don’t want to look towards, sing towards them instead and watch the honey dripping from your voice sink its teeth on distance
- You’re labeled as missing but shattered glass from cracked clocks don’t lie about mistakes, the only thing missing in you is faith

In dark purple it says train wreck on your lips
Don’t you dare tell me that you spoke like rivers once
I only see the sea as metallic orange
Like you only see me as the hands of a clock
Time isn’t what kept chipped seashells whole
Empty school parking lots remind me of cold winters
Some days you read the veins in your wrists as maps
Maybe that’s why you left boxes of strawberries in the fridge
When our tradition had been pomegranates
Did we not look up the synonyms for ‘danger’ one night?
I forgot to tell you I love you when you planted daisies in my bones
With purple ink you showed me the way to Mars’ moons anyway

Racing cars and blinding lights
On the corner of the street
After you came home last night
The kitchen clock stopped
Working at 9:30 pm
You were covered in tomorrow
Morning’s melodies and
August’s warmth but the
Carelessness in your eyes
Glowed more like February
When we had raspberries
For breakfast two weeks
Straight and you bought
New khaki pants because
Dad wanted you to
We had boundaries linked
With the ink of a pen
And wings that belonged
To red birds but we were
Still free and now all that’s
Left is the taste of sour
Apples and honey and old
Photographs tinted with
Mustard colours on the
Edges stacked in the
Bookcases covered with
Sparkling dust and crackling
Leaves I wish you left the
Constellations threaded
In your palmed still stitched

Smiles that drip with gold sadness and
Run from estranged places go hand in hand with
Blue perspectives and unheard words,
But I’d escape to anywhere with you
By my side if it meant
Danger and orange sunsets
Stale coated eyes and huge skies
Because you taught me that happiness
Is not viable if its not laconic
And the fewest of beating clocks were
Enough to last both a night and 7
Dollars in mere coins

you talked like you inked the water green, maybe its sparkles came from the ones in your eyes, that explains the darkness that replaced your pupils in a deep rich purple, when did the fences become so tall that we stopped bothering to climb them, did it bother you that the iron was coated in hard red glass, when we passed by the breakfast diner at 3:42am eight nights ago it shook you up how much freedom you've yet to use up and that's the same reason you left later that morning without packing up anything but a bag of m&ms; and your favourite navy blue travelling blanket, the one with the corner snagged on all the glistening dreams dripping with untreated finality we've yet to accomplish and horror stories by campfires lit to radiate up the dimmest nights, the fact that your silver coated camera is still sitting on your bed says a lot about where you're headed but the fact that the neon frozen yogurt sign is illuminating bright against the ink of the night says a lot about how i'm coping even when my tires are screeching and my legs are bleeding metals you didn't tell me about because our time wasn't spent timed right, the water's turning blue and it shines, not sparkles anymore, i'm climbing fences again so often my hands and knees are bruised yellow and brown, i don't eat breakfast anymore and i'm everything but free but the photos on your camera roll are of apologies, caramel constellations and citrus fruits all in the forms of lies and truths and promises

-look at the sky more often, it puts your day into perspective so that all the burn marks you thought were going to be blue holes in your skin feel like galaxies instead; the sky's taken up your problems so that you have none and you're still crying about a 56 on your science test, one that won't matter in the long run.
-drink water, flush out all the worries and fears and bad vibes with each swallow, you're not eating rocks for dinner anymore. you're flowing with so many ideas and thoughts and talents inside, make sure you don't drown them.
-fold your collars back down, you can keep your guard up using the bones in your neck but you're strong enough to withstand a little wind here and there. maybe you don't need the practice anymore but the sun while shine on you anyway like the moon still keeps watch and eventually you'll have nothing to be wary of fighting about

tea leaves and a bowl of mints, you're craving a time that left you years ago, now you're seeing yellow every time you blink, but life's not a filter on dreams and if you keep eating pomegranates without salt it could be a problem, your fingertips are already purple from holding too much ice so what will happen to your insides? sparks eventually die out, fires do too, but sometimes they don't, they just take longer to forget and you can't cut flames and smoke with chainsaws like you try to do with your feelings so remember to hold your smile in place and climb every fence it takes for you to slowly learn your red painted constellated lessons

-smiles that leave the sun looking like a light bulb in comparison, and eyes that leave the stars drowning
- sunny bus rides just to see a loved one accompanied with red lights for seconds of peace on the charcoal coloured, bumpy roads but safe travels nonetheless
- spring jackets that feel like home and colours that make the heart swell
- strangers that have the potential to be friends
- the best memories channelled in the back of a mind
- free flowing pens that write like walking on clouds
- sights along the way of flowers blooming
- possibilities of learning new things and new faces and new places
- suitcases that carry homes inside them
- books that carry knowledge, experience and let you feel the burn of new curiosity
- filled cafe spaces, menus, safety
- friendly chatter, scholarly chatter, best friend chatter

caged in the kind of eyes that make you think twice about the colour of swollen leaf veins, you're swimming in dangerous waters that could tear apart the metals in your blood. whoever told you that big breakfasts were good for you was not lying, but they did not mean bowls of fear and slices of anger with rebellion spreads, you're swallowing emotions i could easily caress for you but the touch of anything other than ink on your skin is harmful to your blue sensitivity. understand that no one is out to hurt you but the thoughts you've help come out of their raw jails, and understand that there are laws for criminals like these. who doesn't know that you've never been one to follow the system but there are flames under your skin burning colours of the sky so why cant you escape, why cant you escape, why cant you run.

in my nightmares you sport black shirts with the collars rolled up and red sleeves for misunderstood stories. i have silver chains and a purple heart because of swallowed rocks and sold out moons that melt when the galaxies start exploding. at 2:47am we went out for coffee at that cheap gas station store and left the cliffs to the colours of an April sunrise. "the bird's eye still doesn't see everything" you said, and its stamped on my cheekbones. every time red blooms through the sky i see roadmaps to Windsor where those playground swings still reach for more of our memories but eventually they get burned down too

Name all the reasons you stayed at the dark hotel without
Wearing those silver rings that never seem to come off your fingers otherwise
What made you want to move south to cold air and a lack of clothing lines?
The lonely roads on the map of out town spell out your name
But I can barely say it and each traffic light blinks out into the city
The way you eyes do when you’re feeling uninspired
I know you haunt bus stops
What did block parties and fairy lights do to make you pack up?
Summer popsicles melted over your legs and left marks that resemble fireflies
We used to catch those in Emery Forest when 2:16 am called but now
I pick up the phone and only grasshoppers chirp
They tell me that you took my light with you and no
Sort of sun will tell you where you need to be but your own.

Pacific seas hold diamonds in their palms but one time I had a race with a tiger and saw melting rubies hidden in these forests littered with letters of lies engraved into tree trunks, thank God we wrote ours on leaf veins and never thought twice about forever even when remembering 10:34 am and raspberry yogurt breakfasts, do your headphones still drill you the same stories drowned in beats? I named eclipses after you and the stars started shining brighter, the sound of your name makes me lighter and I see sparks, forget nostalgia even when it is 12:07 am and I forget what it’s like to have a heartbeat float in silver petals falling from the colours in your ever changing eyes. You brought the feeling of gold so pardon me when I can't swim in pacific waters.

You’re gliding on ice that’s sprouting
Flowers like the freckled mountaintops down south
But you haven’t noticed the red that’s started to cover
Spreading on the bottom of your plate
If you did this with fire maybe you’d still be alive
But this is a new kind of electricity angled towards you
Like the stroke of a brush that whistles
Something that sounds like letters
And open doors at the end of mile long pathways
You are an exit route not a fire escape
Does your mother know why you keep empty water bottles
On the desk by the back door and not the one by your bed
Swearing that you are sinking into tides that keep you afloat
I saw the run rise in your eyes once
The yellow and green awoke something in your smile
And a streetlight’s glow burned out
Coated in silver, immersed in purple petals
Yet the plastic stuck in your throat
Is lodged between adventure and fear
And you don’t want to jump

Door’s open, walk into a hallway to cinnamon scents
And broken candies scattered on the table
I felt all your rays beneath the beats that brought me home
Back to gas fire places and engraved wooden floors
In these panels you kept secrets that telephone calls cannot decode
And we’re thunderstorms again
Through letters and postage stamps you learned that
Bones and old maps of veins don’t like being set on fire
In waters made of dust particles and stale sunshine
You could be planting exit signs on the stones you trip over
And the words you burn under your tongue
Silver coated and kissed with burning coal
You missed a step but this is your firewood
Just remember to take your lighter with you the next time you leave

I can find the morning in your light,
Yesterday the shore disappeared from the palm of my hands
You told me flowers only grow on soil and dirt
But there are gardens growing on the
Insides of your rib cages under the sun that only
Rises but refuses to set, your eyes encompass the
Elegance that never leaves the stars and guides
Constellations back to their origins, you carry
Warmth in the lowest of hazy nights on the
Tips of your fingers where galaxies have been
White before they turn to dust
I swam through a green ocean and
Landed on your shore
Your scent still lingers through smoke
Even water could not drown me the way
Your words do
Melting far more marshmallows than
I can carelessly burn

Quarters spill from my pockets
Contrary to the ways my lies never do
The thickness in lemonade cuts my tongue
& The edges from freshly broken pieces
Try to dissect the 36 syllables in
Your words strung together
By bare teeth and neon truths only the
Moon’s craters ever get to hear,
I'm here but I'm not the gold of the
Moon, I'm a spinning solar system
& You are all the orange waves in the
Oceans breathing life into cold stillness
Still I can't swim because I refuse the
Possibility to drown
But I don’t need water to feel like
I'm sinking & these coins make me heavy
Like your name make me light
How can I be planets when your
Eyes are silver galaxies

I mistook the candles burning in your veins
For popsicles on a day like July 16th
On the plains of a desert in Dubai
You always cooled the smoke around me
Always kept me from ferrying the wrong way
Even on the hardest to fly occasions
But I didn’t see
(I guess you were burning so bright
That I always took it for your natural light
Like the moon at 12:47 am)
That you were aching so hard you left burnt marks on me
I’m sorry I ran to the ice-cream truck
When what you really needed was an ambulance

I really did sit there pulling out brick after brick
When I was told that there are stories in every masterpiece
I'm on the 67th story and yet I see the same words engraved in every piece:
One doesn’t break someone down to build themselves up
One doesn’t light fires just to smell the smoke
And one doesn’t close themselves off so someone else can search for them.

Rain has never trickled
In my veins like you have,
With your motorbike and
Wheels that go rounder than
Your eyes when you're
Gazing at the twinkling stars
In the pitch black skies
That smell like purple metal
During midnight
When you're laughing with
Your head thrown back
Black locks sway across your forehead
And no moon can begin to
Compare to your glow
You’re my
Ecstasy of a drug
My hidden escape
All I want is
Empty parking lots at 2am
And cold coffee
Even on a winter day
So make it snow
You’ve caused enough flurries
In the back of my mind
The holes in my stomach
Avalanches on avalanches
In the galaxies of my fingertips
Your strength is enough to keep
All the glaciers from melting
Tell me about the time you felt most free
I think I’m tied down to the warmth
That radiates out your smile
Even when you spit the coldest stories
From the days of burnt cigarettes
And vacant, abandoned shopping carts

Keep your tears in
They collect on the pavement
With the rain
Like alphabet soup
They form
Letters with the potential
To make sense and form
Words but are too
Lost and mixed up
Whereas my tea sits in silence
And doesn’t have to
Speak to know that
You don’t want to talk

Towers popping out of holes and gaps and
Missing parts of time like
They were built from lemon juice and
All the right clock pieces
Really they’re salty regrets from the
Seconds we carefully lost
In silver keys and gold buttons
Engulfing most of the trees we
Attempted to plant
If you give artificial
You do not receive authentic
So even the most opaque ebony nights
Won’t knock on your window
When all you caused were transparent
Plastic tasting [blue purple clouds]

Ruby red converse
Rust coloured jacket
With the collars pulled down to
Expose your collarbones
The freshly painted ink engraving
Is stark against your skin
Once again you’ve proved that
You can commit to art
Yet not to another soul
Looking for the reasoning behind
The ways your eyes turn to amber
Liquid every time you’re scared
You kept those secrets in a box
Labeled in green sharpie with
DO NOT LET THE SUN TELL WHY
Every time I see you,
On occasion at our bus stop
The one where we traded coffees
And shared donuts
I reach up to adjust the
Scarf around my neck
You kissed the spot above
My neck bone with too much
Stardust on your lips
Now in scattered letters
It spells out your name and
I can’t have people knowing
That you were once my rain
On a dessert land
Dry for days
The wet came with rescue
Ladders in the late afternoons
I aligned myself with
Treetops caressing leaves
And far too many thorns
Live with me again
Show me what its like not
To be sunless on the
Floweriest 11 a.m. mornings
My friends started asking
Why there is only one pair
Of shoes by the door
Instead of two
I tell them the speed
One walks at is ever changing
And not to marathon wearing
Stars on your feet