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Jayantee Khare Apr 2018
And one day
I realised,
the grits hurting my feet
were not on the road,
but actually inside my shoes...
who are close
hurt more

My 400th poems on hp....
Seanathon Jan 2018
I always wanted to work in a place
Where if it surpasses me
I could walk out of an open door, into the woods
And walk away from everything
Until I am surrounded by trees
And so I am, surrounded by trees
Away from that place and all that it means
Because walking is part of a walking life
And no shoelace ever remains fully tied
The air feels cooler after that
product endorsements
are what I like to do
and boy have I got
a good product for you
since I've been wearing
the EverFlex brand
of shoe
endorsing them is all
I like to do
they've a comfortable fit
and on the foot
they so nicely sit
EverFlex are the kings
in the shoe-making vocation
and should you not be
slipping into a pair
your feet won't be
sensing elation
Nick Moser Nov 2016
People can say anything about you.
Wage wars with you.
Degrade you.

But when the shoe's on the other foot,

They decide they don't like the wardrobe.
Look and try you best
Josie Sep 2016
Cell phone, oh cell phone
Why won't you ring
Any job will do
I need money
To stuff in my shoe
Nobody is hiring. Sigh.
Sammy Connell Sep 2016
Going out the back door,
It caught my eye like bird
swooping down on a branch.

A brown old leather shoe
By the fence, in the tall grass.
Sitting like a burning martyr,
It melted in the rain.
Lost soles .
       . . . never free . . .
Follow me . . . see . . . have no fear .
           But you have handed me  . . .
one left shoe and a-not- her .

Come old lady who lives in the shoe . . .
Where are your children ? ? ?
. . . a little unsteady ?

Lost soles to memory , like Kentucky lightning on a warm Alabama night .
All hail the underdog .
All hail  . . .

The first left one fits nicely
But the right foot has disagreement . . .
feeling he has been left out .
Klaryssa May 2016
I use descriptors like "you" to maintain a sense of anonymity
Poets wrote about you a lot
Something about the things you did
The hearts you broke
The collections you kept
The sweatshirts you never gave back
The words you said...
I don't ever want to write the kind of poetry you spoke
You speak
You continue to talk as if my use of past tenses don't remind you I am finished with this conversation
Because your voice was like a song I never got out of my head
It kept repeating
It kept repeating
It kept repeating
It kept repeating
It kept repeating
It kept repeating
It kept...
Until finally I kicked the stereo so hard it broke
So did my pinky toe
it hurt a small part of me to kick you out but you were only ever laced with venom and I only wanted to lace my shoes
Except when I did, it burned my hands
As if the poison you spoke wasn't enough
You wanted to smell the burning flesh of my palms as I pushed you off my ship
I plan to sail toward sunrises not meant for your eyes

I don't want to write the kind of poetry you spoke
He spoke
She speaks
He screams
She yells
He beats out of his lungs
Because those kinds of words are not fit for the anthems I plan to shatter the sound walls of the earth with

See reaching the sound resonance of the world, won't be an easy feat and I cannot do it if I wrote the kind of poetry you spoke for me.
Jamison Bell May 2016
This world is dark wherein I roam,
often voiceless and all alone.
These things you think I cannot hear,
rest assured they're perfectly clear.

You see my friend there's something amiss,
and it's not unlike that very first kiss.
The event horizon breached by a meeting,
the most delightful of all the possible greetings.

Drifting and wading amongst so many souls,
aimlessly doubting they share the same goals.
Lamenting their woes and playing the fool,
never keeping in mind the golden rule.

It's in your nature to feel somewhat needed,
to serve a purpose many have pleaded.
To know that your death might bring them sorrow,
to know that sadness would visit their morrow.

Still though you stand there out in the rain,
thinking no others could know your pain.
Feeling alone and misunderstood,
I cannot help you I wish I could.

It is our tasks to wander this earth,
hoping and praying that time will give birth.
To a realization or an epiphany,
of knowing you are more than what you see.

The journey can **** and be rather daunting,
the spectre of loneliness forever haunting.
Fret not my friend upon looking you'll see,
there's to be no sorrow your will is free.

To love who you want with reckless abandon,
you may happen upon the right companion.
Someone who carest to ask about you,
to know of your fears or the size of your shoe.

Moments show up like scenes in a play,
some last for a while and some just a day.
Hold tight these firsts they may be your last,
before you join me as another outcast.
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