When I cannot look at your face
I look at your feet.
Your feet of arched bone,
your hard little feet.
I know that they support you,
and that your sweet weight
rises upon them.
Your waist and your breasts,
the doubled purple
of your nipples,
the sockets of your eyes
that have just flown away,
your wide fruit mouth,
your red tresses,
my little tower.
But I love your feet
only because they walked
upon the earth and upon
the wind and upon the waters,
until they found me.

RH 78 Jan 2015

Box fresh protectors.
How can 2 items take such a pounding day in day out?
My feet are safe in their leather enclosures.
Bound up like 2 Egyptian mummies.

Grace Alford Mar 2014

My feet are disgusting and horrendous
Crooked toes and calluses tell my stories
the pitter patter of them on the kitchen floor, trying to be quit and not wake up my parents in the mornings when I was little
Always wishing they were bigger so I could get new shoes

Years wearing on my feet, scars from running into sharp corners

And yet they still hold me up

smushing them into my skates, getting calluses every week for eight years

running from one place another and are learning why every type of ground feels like between my toes

From the frozen pavement to the searing sand they have been through the harshest conditions

And yet they will never fail me

Olga Valerevna Aug 2014

When everything is heavy but you cannot feel the
weight
You must've put the balances on someone else's
fate
And that was the beginning of the end that you will
see
A shallow recognition of the life you chose to
leave
It happens all too often, people give themselves
away
Accept the hands of others when they think they cannot
stay
But even if the truth puts reassurance in their
heads
The power they possess is like a prison for the
dead
Because you aren't walking and your feet are not your
own
You haven't the ability to set a different tone

for me, for those who give it all away

I think I'm on my feet again
Can you feel it? Can you feel it?
Don't know how or why or when
Can you feel it? Can you feel it?
I think I'm on my feet again
Can you hear it? Can you hear it?
Tell me where do I begin
I can't hear it. I can't hear it.

Recovery is a process
WistfulHope Aug 2014

My feet
Are so far away
From my head.
I think that they are
The most fortunate
Piece of my body.
Rarely are they
Punctured
Or stabbed.
Clawed
Or sliced.
They even try
To hold me up
When I'm too dizzy,
Depleted to think.
To bad I hate them,
For they are still
A part of me.

Fiona Campbell Jan 2015

Barefoot, blistered and bleeding
She wanders in from the street
People stare, flabbergasted
Very odd, unheard of in fact

She doesn’t know her size
So like Cinderella, she tries them on
Randomly selecting pretty colours

Silvery, glittery heels
She twirls for the mirror
Sales assistant sighs
Wellingtons for the garden
If she had one!

Satin ice skates
She would glide on the icy pond
Pretty sandals
To feel the sand between her toes

Boring, black brogues
Perfect!
With no pennies in her pocket
She wanders back to the street
Barefoot, blistered and bleeding

Drake Taylor Jun 2014

It ripples out,
So prominent at first,
And the disappears,
Like everything else.

Nothing Much Jan 2015

I've always had itchy feet
Never can sit still
Or let the soles of my shoes fuse to the ground

I keep my home around my neck
Wear it in a golden heart shaped locket
I misplaced my compass but never lost myself

I crave the ground passing beneath my feet
Beneath wheels and airplane shadows
I measure my age in miles acquired

I've seen the Milky Way from every angle
And swam in every sea
I keep going, going, going
And I never stop to wonder what I'm running from

Wrote this on a train!
Ian Woods Jul 2015

No-one can know another man's trouble
they walk the same path unaware of the rubble
they don't take a spill, ever stumble or slip
their feet will jump, dance, prance and skip
while other feet rip letting blood ooze
others have lucky feet born wearing shoes
that keep them bone dry when they walk life's mire
and leave them unburned when stepping on fire
not troubled by rocks or by mud or hot coals
their feet remain sweet but they've holes in their souls.

Inspired by the mighty SoulSurvivor and her poem, Rocks.
lulu Dec 2014

i have hands but i don't see them.  

i don't see them doing something different.
i don't see them creating magnificent pieces.
i don't see them writing for a greater cause.

all i see
is what they destroy.
i see the hearts they break,
the egos they shatter,
the minds they shake,
and the souls they crush.

i have feet, but it doesn't seem like it.

i don't feel my feet marching for a better world.
i don't feel my feet going to places it should.
i don't feel my feet running from the negativity of this place.

the times i do see them,
they're walking to the pits of fire
they're running in a maze
they're falling to the pavement.

12/1/14

And their feet move
rhythmically, as tender
feet of Cretan girls
danced once around an

altar of love, crushing
a circle in the soft
smooth flowering grass

Dear feet,

Bring me to places where my heart will be tried; my mind be blown; my faith be tested; my reason be questioned.

I want my life to be a worthwhile walk. That after all the devastations you brought me in. And the cuts you got where the blood spilled.
I could write on this uneasy ground,

"I have had a hard one, but at least, I fought to live and was not defeated."

Yours,

-qyf

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