#converse
Get to know me,
You will see I'm pretty cool,
The queen of my kingdom,
HA, HA!!
I DO RULE!!!
Just come to my world,
Let's hang, and explore,
ask questions, gland get answers,
That's what I'm here for.
I'm just like a Jewel,
I sparkle, and I shine,
A Light that's so vibrant,
It will make you go blind.
I'm way down to earth,
I'm one of a kind,
Just sharp, and got wits,
So, let's chill and unwind.
A genuine kinda girl,
I will give you the feels,
Straight forward, and honest,
That's keeps it on the real,
I enjoy making friends,
Oh, can't you just see,
Just hang, and find out, and
JUST GET TO KNOW ME!!
B.R.
Date: 5/23/2026
May 23
May 23, 2026 at 7:43 PM UTC
When I was 14 years old, I went to a thrift shop with my best friend.
It wouldve been late September, early October.
We were talking about our futures, when he mentioned that he didnt know my favorite color.
I told him to guess.
He pondered for a bit and then picked up a pair of pretty yellow converse and shouts out "Yellow!"
He looked so happy, I just nodded and said yes.
I would wear those converse every single day for the next 6 months, they would see as I fell head over heels in love with him.
I stopped wearing them in 2025 after my first attempt of the year.
Yellow is my favorite color.
i saw bits of it in everything after that.
saw it everywhere.
eventually that friend and i would grow apart.
meet new people
stop talking entirely
i will be told that i was an awful person
yet... yellow remains my favorite color.
those shoes still sit in my closet.
a testament to my unspoken love.
i will wear them periodically for the next 5 years until they burn in a fire i caused.
until then
yellow will always be my favorite color.
Feb 13, 2025
Feb 13, 2025 at 9:08 PM UTC
Be free
Of this family curse
That is me
It'll only get worse
You'll see
What emerges first
And agree
Not to be coerced
A "we"
Will definitely die of thirst
Time can't be
Truly reimbursed
The key
Never start to converse
My company
Not even close to worth
What you'll be
Forced to traverse
©2024
May 5, 2024
May 5, 2024 at 9:43 PM UTC
In covid silence
You may hear
A voice
And
It will be like
A dream lane
Alright
Mar 24, 2020
Mar 24, 2020 at 10:39 AM UTC
he left me.
he hurt me.
he lied to me.
he made it hard for me to trust.
but,
i trust you.
i trust that
you won't leave me,
you will be kind to me,
you will be honest,
you are the best thing for me.
Nov 19, 2019
Nov 19, 2019 at 9:06 PM UTC
In high school, I'd wear Converses.
Or Chuck Taylors, whatever you called 'em.
I'd remember going to a new school, proudly wearing
a pair of Converses with the same blue shade
as my new school's uniform skirts;
how I'd attend Phys Ed with the same trainers,
even though it wasn't a good idea to use them
for physical activity.
I remember riding in the back
of my father's motorcycle as we
did errands around the town,
and he'd indulge me by parking near
a road chock full of thrift stores --
and we'd go in, under a false pretense of
"just checking, just a quick look-around"
and my father would surprise me
by buying me a thrifted pair.
They were either pink, or magenta,
and I was at that age of rebellion --
"no girly colors", I'd shout --
but I'd always wear them out,
and it always made my dad smile.
I once came home with my friends
without telling my father,
and he was out in the front porch,
half-naked as all Asian dads are,
and he was clipping some brand new Converses
on the wash line to dry.
I had been so embarrassed, because this
was the first time that my friends
had seen my father, had seen my house
but all they could see was how kind he was
by surprising me with a new pair.
I had a total of seven pairs of Converses,
one of them he paid his sister to buy for me
from the United States.
I keep them in a box, under the sink,
because even though my feet have grown,
I'm still unable to sell them nor give them away.
In college, I wore Palladiums --
big, thick, chunky lace-up boots
that looked out of place in a college freshman's closet
and more at home tied by the shoelaces to a soldier's bag.
I've moved to the capital city,
away from my little brother, away from my father.
I lived with my mother, who worked and moved
until her body gave out and she'd have to take some days to rest.
She bought me my first pair when I asked;
because she told me that
"first impressions last; but shoes are always what stays in a person's mind",
which was funny seeing as how
Palladium was, first and foremost,
a company from the age of the Great Wars
that manufactured the tires fitted for airplanes;
and that now, decades later, rebranded themselves
as a company with a recognizable design --
channeling urban life, heavy endurance,
and the soul of recreating one's image,
rising from the ashes of the past like some sort of phoenix.
My mother had wanted me to fit in,
yet be unique at the same time,
in a world that moved so fast that I had to run just to keep up.
And she'd buy me pairs not as often as my father did,
but it was always in celebration.
Either for a job well done, a reward for good grades,
or simple because it was my birthday.
Those Palladiums became my signature shoes,
and I was the only one to wear them
inside the university.
At one point, I was recognizable because
of a particularly special pair --
Palladiums that were bright, firetruck red
and had the material of raincoats --
that people would know it was me
even from far away, just by the color of my boots.
I had six pairs in total; all heavy, all colorful,
with different textures and different price points,
and my mother bought me these special shoeboxes
which we stacked til the ceiling, right beside
her own tower of heels for special occasions,
because that was what defined us.
I've started buying my own shoes,
and I'm not as brand-exclusive as I was before.
There's a pair of no-names, some banged up Filas,
even a pair of Doc Martens I'm too afraid to bust out.
They're also not as colorful; because I know that
black pairs and white pairs are easier to style
in any day, in any weather, with any color or material.
Most of them were for everyday use, and it required
a certain level of comfort, a certain level of durability,
that was worthy of that certain retail price.
I look at my shoe rack, and realize
that I am not as colorful as I once was.
I do not have that sense
of colorful, wild, down-on-my-luck rebellion
that my father put up with in my adolescent years.
I lost my drive of being
a colorful, unique, instantly recognizable upstart
as my mother had taught me to be.
My shoes have no stories to tell,
no personality to express --
a row of blacks and whites, the occasional greys.
And when I look internally,
it's the same, monochromatic expanse staring back at me.
I am in a place where
I am everywhere and nowhere at once.
I can't tell whether my feet
are solidly on the ground,
or pointed to the sky, toes wriggling in the clouds.
In an ever-growing shoe rack
filled with old, ***** Converses,
and heavy, attention-seeking Palladiums,
I choose a comfortable pair of plain, white sneakers
and head out in the open,
paving my own way.
I take comfort in the fact
that it's just the beginning.
That I am at the start
of my designated brick road,
an endless expanse before me.
My shoes will acquire color,
my designs will develop taste,
my soul will be injected into the soles of my feet
with every step I take --
forward, backward, it doesn't matter
so long as I keep moving.
Nov 13, 2019
Nov 13, 2019 at 8:25 AM UTC
fire in her lungs
dust in her mouth
keep going,
keep going
run
to the south
yellow
and tan
footprints
in the sand
her red
converse
leave
trails
an imperfect daughter
looking for water
disappointment
follows
each step.
sand in clothes
in her hair
twixt her toes
she runs
with her red converse.
will she ever come across
an oasis, lost
or will her bones
stay hidden,
in the sand.
Jun 5, 2019
Jun 5, 2019 at 9:52 AM UTC
she wore hightops
and a tattered
old book bag.
and she liked
to tie
her red converse
to it's straps.
and walk
across
the fire escape.
the metal
beneath
her socked feet
was cool
and x-ed
and black.
she ran,
and she laughed
or she ran
and she cried
but she ran
and she ran
for it was all
she could do.
Jun 5, 2019
Jun 5, 2019 at 10:36 AM UTC
Oh, how you were so pearly white when I saw you.
What a good impression you made with me.
It took some time to get comfortable.
Soon enough we've made so many memories
walking here and there.
But as they do, you've got some scuffs now.
More time passes, you're not as clean as when I first saw you.
Usually how it goes, I either get fond of these well worn shoes and want to keep them forever or end up tossing them.
I still remember the good times, but I've moved on and there are other shoes to admire now.
Mar 30, 2019
Mar 30, 2019 at 11:46 PM UTC
I like my green converse
They aren’t black, like the night without the moon and stars
Or the bottom of the ocean
Or the greasy cast iron pan
They aren’t red, like the blood
That flows in my veins
Or the sunset at seven
Or the maraschino cherries in my fridge
They’re green,
Like the grass beneath my feet
Like the painting in my dining room
Like a ripening banana
Green is my favorite color,
so I like my green converse
Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 10:19 PM UTC
go to God
and be with Him
it always will
make Satan grim
for that is what
submitting looks like
giving Satan
no chance to strike
he is resisted when
you and God converse
one on one
in His presence immersed
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 12:20 AM UTC
Converse shoes and sometimes vans.
Most of them aren't worn up because there's always new ones.
Skinny jeans and crop tops.
Whoever understood these shrinking styles?
This generation of despair and confusion.
Teens who look up to eachother more than their family.
Teens who find satisfaction on the side of a sharpener's razor or the end of a cigarette.
Teens who live in their young lives more than their parents ever did.
We're seeing chaos and ****** of little children.
Wars in countries that hates eachother.
The oxygen thats thinning right in front of our faces.
And how much poison being thrown at us, brainwashing youths and toddlers.
Making them miserable without them being aware of it.
But this is the generation that knows the power of loving eachother.
The generation that uses that power to stay alive.
We're living on the edge.
We're seeing what the world is becoming.
And we are the only hope, to get **** back on track.
Hell even adults say that.
Apr 18, 2018
Apr 18, 2018 at 11:36 AM UTC
I’ve got buzzing in my feet
cause of this new pair of shoes
and I’m feeling pretty sweet
like there’s nothing to lose.
They’ve got thick rubber soles
and bright white laces
The kind to take a stroll
with deep wide paces.
My bright yellow pair of sneakers
I wonder how they look
Or if I seem too eager
Or if I’ll be mistook.
They make me grin so wide
I feel unrecognizable
My heart so full of pride,
My smile’s undeniable.
I can’t help but feel neat
when I squeak against the sidewalk
or when I saunter down the street
and meander round a roadblock.
I’ve got buzzing in my feet
cause of this new pair of shoes
and I’m feeling pretty sweet
like there’s nothing to lose.
Jan 31, 2018
Jan 31, 2018 at 11:28 AM UTC
My heart is starting to look like my converse.
***** and worn, but fully functional.
No holes.
My heart is starting to look like my notebooks.
Missing the cover and a few pages here and there,
but, still full of plenty of worthwhile content.
My heart is starting to act like my cat.
really means well and playful
but, isn't very good with strangers
or people in general, really.
I guess that it's a slow build.
Two steps forward and one step back, is still movement.
I know it's not the saying, but I'm an optimist.
I **** up less often than I get **** right.
Bad things come in threes and I think I've bought myself some time.
Jan 6, 2018
Jan 6, 2018 at 1:44 PM UTC
French vanilla Converse,
taupe-boxed flannel (too big),
and an American Spirit burning,
real, real slow. What a hipster ****
what a culture-eating parasite.
He says, 'Read Proust with me.'
He says something about how
his dad is dead but not in
a literal sense; metaphorically.
I was never interested in that part
in the avant-garde spoken poetry Friday nights.
I bust into the bathroom
and ***** grasping
Bed Bath and Beyond clearance items.
The walls are the same shade
of green as my skin.
A hand pets my thigh and I'm told
it'll all be okay.
How those knuckles knew,
I'll never know.
Oct 9, 2017
Oct 9, 2017 at 7:50 PM UTC
*Will I ever find you?
I do not chase now
I'm on my own
I left my desperation into the woods.
I am more of me, who stares to be still
quietly observing to its brim.
Will I ever find you darling?
To pour out my love but not too much
so as not to bore you out.
I would not empty myself to you
but to love you each day cautiously
one day at a time.
Will I actually find you ever?
You would grab me into your arms
and not leave me ever no matter how hard.
You would understand my poetry
and say nothing but give me love.
You would converse with me for hours
about art, poetry and new stuffs in life.
You would be angry and fight but holding me tight.
Oh! how I wish I could have found you by now
I just need your shoulder to cry.*
Mar 30, 2017
Mar 30, 2017 at 5:10 AM UTC
Its weird getting new shoes , i either like them immediately or it takes time
our friendship is like converse , it took time
but i loved how easily it could be washed , even after a muddy climb
i mean slowly i realized that with every wash the color faded a bit
i didnt mind the change in color , becuase its a good shoe
then holes and rips developed and maybe my feet grew
I got tired of the stitches and glue
its not that i dont like you
its just its hard on me too
I had an interesting trip
To realize friendship is endship
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 2:43 PM UTC
Thump Thump.
Butterflies crawl in my chest.
Thoughts swirl around in my head.
I can’t focus or see straight.
This is anxiety.
And it’s not something I
talk about often, though it’s
more common than one might
think, where my heart pounds so
loud and anxious
thoughts threaten to
drown out everything
that makes me,
Me.
You see, my brain sees simple
things incorrectly.
Texts and sometimes the
thought of leaving the
house sends
adrenaline coursing through my
system like
a thousand shots of caffeine
into my bloodstream.
The logical parts of me fled on the
first flight out of town,
leaving me to feel the tremors and
full force tsunami
on the ground.
Anxiety is a lot like love,
but it’s a battle not a dance.
A lifetime, not five minutes.
Unlike love, it’s often violent.
But just like love, it’s quite silent.
Anxiety feels like hunger, but stronger.
Like fear, but it lasts longer.
Writing this poem has quelled the
qualms that anxiety often spells.
I wish that I could be honest
about this part of me. But it's
one of those things you’re trained
not to talk about from a young age.
Because unless you’re depressed,
medicated, or heaven forbid
you’re not seeing a therapist,
then it’s not bad enough to qualify.
It’s not big enough to report.
I’m not suffering enough.
But if you could just feel
my heart beating fast.
If you could interpret the swell
of my tell-tale blush.
If you could whisk your fingers
through all of my thoughts.
If you could only
hear all of the things I’m feeling
but can’t quite express.
Then you would know that my
silence is telling.
I may be smiling, but currently I’m
fighting for sanity in my own mind.
The mind I feel is no longer mine.
I’m walking a dangerous
tightrope slope.
My mind is a minefield of poisonous
butterflies.
They threaten to swallow me alive, so
I tread the violence quietly.
I fear when I expose you to this
side of me, you’ll only see anxiety
or that maybe I’m lying.
But anxiety is not me.
I am more than mixed up brain signals.
The rest of me is cardigans in the summer,
because it’s cold inside.
I am mock converse and ponytails and
words on paper,
thoughts poured out,
slowly.
I just feel anxious
Sometimes.
More than normal, actually.
But I’m dealing with it.
And I’m no less me.
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 3:41 PM UTC
A conversation
I want to safety pin
your broken parts on mine
and make a mosaic,
Oh baby, it's only a
matter of time.
You're my captor,
no need to ask;
You have my heart.
Him say "Do you love me?"
I say "Is the sky blue?"
Baby I suffer chronic
stockholm syndrome
whenever I'm with you.
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 8:50 AM UTC
I don't want that sinking feeling,
I don't want to fall apart,
but I'm ready, I guess
for this ride; I've
buckled up my heart.
Mind-cuffed, yet I
thought of you
and your one-sided-ness,
don't you know
for love you need conversation and
conversations work in two?
I will throw you shade
so you can burn,
we won't die from all
their camera-eyes;
I never fell in love with and
in the moment;
I fell inlove in the exact hour
my smile turned sour
because of you.
My blood's gone blue,
and my hair might be wild,
but you're still dealing
with an inexperienced child;
I wasn't told a soul
could become so cold,
you have a beautiful face
but nothing as nice to say,
and I have a mouth that screams
"I love you" in bold.
Aug 28, 2016
Aug 28, 2016 at 3:23 AM UTC
*Your words of tender, mellow slur
are furls and wisps of thin, streaming clouds;
dancing ecstatic,
swaying hypnotic,
sailing on the somber oceans of the wind--
then nestling as mist
at the doors of these still lake lips of mine,
hankering to swallow and wallow the low-resting, quiet, ambrosial fog.*
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 11:26 PM UTC
(he)
You know I would if I could
(she)
You know you couldn't and wouldn't
(he)
But I wish and dream about it
(she)
I know I can't live without it
(he)
Then we should do something about it
(She)
There is nothing that you can do for me now
(he)
You know I would if I could
(she)
I know if you could you would
(he)
Agreed ?
(she)
Agreed !
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 6:56 AM UTC
There are no transmissions any more
Just long rocking emotions
sitting on the front porch of life
The skin of our teeth leaves
a vacuous hunger
for the virginity of thought
But the magic inferred
leaves nothing but a sunset's ray
of goodbye upon the plains
of yesterday's regrets
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 5:05 AM UTC