are big and worn. I've worn them
since I was born. None can
fit in them. They only are my size. I've
worn them in sunrise and rain,

through beatings and days
I was drained. I danced in moonlight
singing a song all night. I walked the
floor in them wiping baby's

phlegm. I soiled then in my garden,
and the day I starred in woman
*****. They shaped all I was. Saw me
through menopause. They're filled with holes

and old. But even unraveled
have sole. I cannot trade them in. I'll only die
in them. None can fill my shoes. Even if
they choose to have a shot. It just isn't their lot.