you wear and break me down,
like your favorite pair of shoes,
running through the mud,
in a race you’ll always lose,
as dusk falls and you're on the chase
I will be the one who always gets a taste,
and as your soft strides clap
against the ground,
It is always me that you are putting down,
one step farther-
it's suddenly so clear to me.
Your favorite shoes are not the ones
on your feet
They are the ones that are never worn, but somehow always showed off.
The ones in your closet, that never come out of the box.
They have never felt pavement or grass
They have never felt free
And in all the ways I’ve been yours,
I still wish that was me.
I wish I was the one caged up if that’s what it means to be loved.
Instead of the one slammed to the ground with every lunge.
While your real favorite shoes, wish to be me, worn to their soles, but feeling the breeze.
To be used is not to be loved; but to be loved is to be used
And how sad must I be to compare myself to shoes?