Soles of white dusty red shoes,
Old laces, and pieces of plastic on the tips,
Newspapers to add space in a mediocre label,
Fake Vans, that ironically says, ‘Original’
In place of that brand’s tag.
Red, and reliable like the last piece of value,
In a house of not many valuable things.
Except the memories of the places I’ve walked,
Bruising my ******* jamming my back heel,
Into a rather than tight new pair.
“These are supposed to be size nines”
As like the age my foot grew longer than I did,
Taking every corner before I did. Indicating loudly,
Which next turn I’m going to take.
Truly shy of my foot without the covering protection,
Of a common shoe. Don’t judge how far I’ve been,
By the measure of the state of my shoes.
I haven’t been that far...
Though I would like to have,
To foreign places like the land I bought my shoes.
Today I had to throw them away,
Which felt like I threw away...
A piece of a memory,
A piece of my wealth,
A piece of myself,
A piece of favourite clothing,
Worn so proudly on my feet.
Farewell to my reliable old red shoes...Sigh!
