Maybe, we’re all wayward souls looking for a
way out.
Spent so long squeezing into factory shoes,
small enough to contain us
that we’ve become numb to these
hand-me-downs.
This society that holds our hands down.
Only raising them when it’s time to change shoes.
Feet out.
Toe’s pointed.
Watch your heels.
Years of this and we’re still wearing what they want us to.
Walking around like counterfeits,
reproductions, imitations, replicas,
when we’re only us.
Only ever been us no matter what they say.
It might be cliche, but it’s an obvious truth.
Feet out.
Toe’s pointed.
Watch your heels.
Us has never left us.
Pressing against the soles of our factory shoes as each toe
bends, folds, distorts, depreciates with every step.
But it’s finding appreciation in every step that,
loosens the laces.
It’s discovering no step is the same step that,
lifts the tightened lip a bit.
It’s learning how to walk while others run,
running while others walk,
that leaves you bare foot in a world of broken glass.
Feet out.
Toe’s pointed.
Watch your heels.
It’s taking leaps while others surrender
their ability to negotiate with
themselves.
It’s conquering the ability to dress yourself that wears out
the factory shoes on your feet.
Feet out.
Toe’s pointed.
Watch your step.

There’s always a time for something, a place for something, a feel for what
something is, what something isn’t or will be or won’t be, or
what it might’ve been since it never really was much more than a pay it forward,
but I could tell that wasn’t a hollow ‘good morning’, because I held the door for a reason,
one larger than an excuse, a reason deeper than the diving end, louder than the traffic, the chorus of car horns, conversations and noise variations, behind me;
a reason better than I am myself, a reason beyond bettering myself, a reason
because I am myself and you are you and from what I noticed you had your hands full, and maybe I just wanted an excuse after all, to say
‘Good morning.’