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Dennis McHale May 2017
She spent half of her life
wearing the same pair of shoes.

When she first saw them, they were dazzling…
full of promise (and promises!)
Tightly laced and polished,
glistening like diamonds upon her feet.

They were immediately comfortable, and comforting.

At first, she walked through dark night forests
and midnight-winding streets; breaking them in,
smiling at the melody of new leather creaking
in harmony with the violin-sawing of cricket wings,
with the ruffling of the night owls feathers.

She dared to share her dreams, and danced in her new shoes
with abandon and trust and hope.

The shoes spoke to her of wondrous things to come…
making promises shoes should not make
but new love demands –

of forever cradling her feet against sharpened stones;
of warming her toes through winter’s storms;
of lifting her heals in rapturous dance…

She fell in love with these shoes,
flooded with dreams of where they might carry her.
Each morning, she slipped them on with tenderness and love;
each night, un-laced, she fell asleep clutching them to her breast…

…whispering sweet hallelujahs
for all the miles they had shared,
and would in all their ahead days walk,
promising – until death do us part!

She loved her shoes with complete abandon
and imagined they would always be as comfortable
as the day she first placed them upon her trusting feet-

each day praying these shoes would always love her in return;
with tenderness, truth, and above all else, never hurting her.

But the years went by, and those beautiful shoes began to wear.
With time, they lost their gloss, and the leather cracked and hardened.
She noticed, one morning, a tiny droplet of blood upon her sock;
Later, a small cut upon her heel, a new pain within her heart.

Yet still, devoted, she continued to wear them
though at night she began setting them beside her bed.

In the final year, she wept looking at these shoes;
they were now ugly shoes, painful shoes.

“These shoes,” she tearfully whispered,
“will never carry me to where I need to go.”

She could tell in others eyes that they
were glad these were her shoes and not theirs.
They never talked about her shoes.
They looked away in embarrassed empathy.
To learn how awful her shoes were might make them
… uncomfortable.

To truly understand these shoes you must walk in them.
But, once you put them on, you can never take them off.

She began, for the first time, to hate her shoes;
with guilt at first, then with an increasing passion
until one day an awareness swept through her thoughts:

“I deserve a better pair of shoes.”

She looked around, and for the first time understood
that she was not the only one who wore those shoes.

“There are many pairs in this world,” she thought.
I can either learn how to walk in them, timidly,
so they don’t hurt quite as much…

“Or I can throw them away.”

And she began to plan.

“No woman deserves to wear these shoes,” she cried.
So for the final few months, she gathered her courage
…..to throw them away.

Ironically, it was these shoes
that had made her a stronger woman.
These shoes had given her the strength to face anything.

They helped make her who she now was.

One day, she slipped them on a final time
feeling the worn leather against her savaged foot;
then, flooded with the intensity of love one can only feel
knowing love is forever lost…she kissed the shoe goodbye.

When the time was right, she took her shoes to a secluded ravine
kissed them, and tossed them…like an old pair of shoes,
into an abyss.

The shoes lay there broken, tattered, worn and useless.
The shoes could not speak of the love they held for the woman
For its tongue was torn.
Left to decay with nothing but the scent of the woman’s
tender hands scenting its laces, slowly fading.

As soon as the shoes were disposed of
she went barefoot into tomorrow, pain-free
and dancing and singing:

“I will forever walk the bare feet
of a woman who has lost her shoes!”

But in exactly one year, she slipped on another pair,
happy and in love again, dancing and laughing once more...

hoping against hope, forgetting old shoes,
willing with all her heart for this shiny new pair to carry her home.
This was in response to the finalization of my divorce from the love of my life of 18 years, and more relevantly, to her announcement that she has met someone else.  Sometimes, what we can't process otherwise, we write.
eileen mcgreevy Feb 2010
Black shoes, white shoes, preparing for my flight shoes,
High shoes, low shoes,beautiful peep toe shoes,
Business shoes, pleasure shoes, too perfect to measure shoes,
Wedding shoes, funeral shoes,running road and tunnel shoes,
Strappy shoes,ahh, ****** shoes, annoying clippy clappy shoes,
We really do need all of these,
While planning our lifes route,
But don't complain too much dear men,
I haven't started on my boots!!
I stepped into your shoes today
and I felt devestation
a death in the family took you by surprise
now you contemplating suicide again
I stepped into your shoes today
and I felt so proud
you graduated High School
your screaming in your victory voice so loud
I stepped into your shoes today
and your heart is breaking
your boyfriend just broke up with you
your throwing everything away that’s no longer worth saving
I stepped into your shoes today
and I felt guilty
you cut after almost as year
now your feeling ugly
I stepped into your shoes today
and I felt depressed
your getting ready to **** yourself
because you feel so helpless
I stepped into your shoes today
and I felt scared
your about to have your first baby
and the father isn’t there
I stepped into your shoes today
and I got a really bad tummy ache
you have Cancer and your dying
there’s not much more your body can take
I stepped into your shoes today
and I started to cry
your husband was called into war
this could be your final goodbye
I stepped into your shoes today
and I felt nervous
your leaving for college in two days
and you can’t seem to find your courage
I stepped into your shoes today
and I felt lost
your five years old, you lost your Mom and it’s almost getting dark
I stepped into your shoes today
and I felt overjoyed
you won an award for your writing
you are filled with so much pride
I stepped into your shoes today
and I felt peace
you lived your life, you reached your dreams
your as ready for death as you will ever be
I stepped into your shoes today
and I felt in love
you just married the love of your life
in front of your family, friends and God
I stepped back into my own shoes today
and I felt grateful
I realized I’m not the only one on earth with problems
and I’m thankful for all the greatness I get blessed with each and everyday
WRITTEN BY: Mandie Michelle Sanders
WRITTEN ON: June.21, 2013 Friday 9:39 P.M.
Harriet Cleve Jul 21
he placed his new shoes beside his feet. They looked disappointed to meet each other. What foot would want to be clothed in you? each foot said to its respective shoe.

you dare to say that when it is the pair of us who will strike the ground and absorb the blows of each step you take! said the disgruntled shoes.

the feet thought about it then. Gave it good consideration then placed a well aimed kick to the shoes and sent them flying down the stairs.

You miserable excuse for leather ! the feet screamed

As they landed indignantly on the floor below each shoe was badly grazed and scuffed.

The feet came charging down ready to inflict massive damage on the shoes.

A voice came from the ether

‘Make sure you wear your new shoes to school!”

Disgusted at this the feet were placed into fresh laundered stockings.

Then they were placed into the shoes.

After an hour the feet reached the school. They were sweating profusely.

The nylon stocks were cheap but they didn’t breathe.

It’s like a furnace in here! each foot screamed

The blisters blew out then on the toes as the shoes got their revenge,

The heel of the shoes pared the ankles just above the foot. It was painstaking just to be in the shoes. New leather bore down on the feet and crushed their very bones.

You won’t kick us again in a hurry the shoes said,

It’s not over yet! We will annihilate you on the way home the shoes said maliciously.

True to their word they pinched and squeezed each foot for all they were worth.

The feet begged for forgiveness but it was too late
.
Shoes had long memories and the school season had just begun.

Every school day for one solid year those ignorant, thoughtless feet
paid the price for their malevolence.

Bunions, blisters, welts, bruises, torn ligaments, ankle occlusion, bone edema, swelling, constant pain was inflicted on the feet.

Now who’s a miserable excuse for leather the shoes would taunt the feet each morning.

The whimper of the feet was the only response.

A sad, melodic, gut wrenching sob that knew it would never be forgiven.

The day came when the shoes were finally worn down and discarded to the junkyard.

A new pair of shoes came into the feet’s life.

‘Hello! the feet said
What’s your name?

You look so handsome. Yes the nicest looking pair of leather shoes we have ever met in our lives.

Don’t bother with the false persona the new shoes replied

We know all about you!

We will pinch your toes and bones till you beg for mercy.

No mercy will be forthcoming

The feet sobbed and went into hysterics.

The sound of the crying was pitiful to hear and never again would they ever mistreat a pair of leather shoes fresh out of the box.
The day I fell off a mountain, these shoes were on my feet
When I lay broken upon the jagged rocks, these shoes were on my feet
When we walked the valley and through the creek, I felt Mother's natural peat,
The day he slipped, I rescued him with these shoes upon my feet
We made a fire and sat in peace with nothing but the sleet
The day we grasped and found nothing there, these shoes were on my feet
We drank the icy cool that she gave to us with open mouths to greet
When rubble and we flew with momentous speed, these shoes were on my feet
The day you brought me to the sunny hill I felt the heavenly heat
Nothing below us once off the edge, even in freefall these shoes are on my feet
Together we hike and row and climb like two brothers always in beat
I look down to see nothing but rock and know I die with these shoes on my feet
Rocks we skip on the glass-like river so smooth, eloquent, and neat
We approach our doom with mighty force my shoes laced on my feet
Singing of folk with not a care in the world, I and my brother do speak
We do collide with the rock with unspeakable speed these shoes take the shock for my feet
You lend me your tool out of kindness and I know it only takes two for a fleet
Our bodies cease to move but the water still falls, these shoes twitch not on my feet
I lay beside you, it feels safer than home here with these people tonight that I meet
My shoulder is bashed and I lay on my front, I look back to see the shoes on my feet.
This poem is about the time my friend Matt and I went to visit his family in Kentucky over the holidays. His grandfather owns and farms over 480 acres of land. We went hiking everyday. One day we were faced with a cliff drop off into the Kentucky river. The cliff was quite steep and we trekked down to the river, then back up. Matt wanted to get close to a waterfall so we did. Matt slipped and I instinctively reached for him. He drug me down with him and everything we grasped for came out of the ground. I wasn't able to save him in the way that I wanted to. We slid off the edge and fell down to the rocks below (about twenty feet). Both of us, aside from a bruised shoulder on me, were miraculously unharmed so we both had a prayer then decided to each mark this occasion in our own ways. I wrote this later that night in the bed at the house. Half is about us falling and the other half is about all the other great things we did that week. I hope you enjoy and please, tell me what you think.
James M Vines Jan 2016
I happened by a store one day, it was to the side of the road and out of the way. Inside were many curious things. On a shelf, by an old wooden bench, I saw a worn out pair of shoes for sale. I couldn't help but notice how the laces were worn bear and how the souls were almost worn through. I ask the man behind the counter, how much the shoes were and he said for you just a few dollars will do. I considered the purchase and tried them on my feet. The shoes fit perfectly, which was a surprise to me. I ask who used to own the shoes and the man said a potter I think. He wore them as he traveled around finding broken things to fix. I thought about it some more and decide I would buy the shoes. I paid the man and left with them on. They were very comfortable and as I walked down the street, I met a man who looked like he could use something to eat. I offered him a kind word and gave him a few dollars, then I went on my way. I thought nothing of my actions. As time went on, it seemed that each day brought something new. A person in need of a kind word or a helping hand. For years I wore the old shoes, but they never seemed to wear out. Though I had many other pairs, they just sat collecting dust. Then one day a young man came by as I was sitting on my front porch. The shoes were sitting on a table beside me and the young man asked me about them, so I told him the story. Marveling at what I said, he seemed anxious to try the shoes on. I let him and they fit perfectly on him as they once did me. He asked if he could buy them and I told him the price. He paid me a few dollars and was on his way. That night as I lay sleeping, I began to dream and I saw the man who had sold me the shoes. He was wearing robes, dressed all in white with a radiant face that shone like the sun. As I felt peace come over me, I saw him wearing the old pair of shoes and he said to me child well done.
drumhound Sep 2017
There are two types of people in the world.
People who don’t have enough shoes
and people who…

There is one type of people in the world.
People who don’t have enough shoes.

The poorest people dream
of one pair of shoes-
a right and a left,
a pride to possess.
The not-so-poor-people dream
of two pair of shoes –
one pair for casual,
one pair for dress.

The not-so-poor-
but-not-so-rich people dream
of four pair of shoes-
one black and one brown,
one to walk and one for play.
The not-rich-but-better-off-
than-the-not-poor people dream
of multiple matching shoes-
one for each outfit,
a new pair each day.

The richest people dream
of endless lots of shoes-
two for every outfit
winter, spring, summer and fall,
some that match their pets
and some match nothing at all.

Yes, there is one kind of people in the world.
The kind who love shoes,
and that makes us the same
black, white, yellow or blue.
So, let’s love all people,
people with shoes.
And give shoes to the shoeless
so they can be loved, too.
Jaide Lynne May 2014
I’m often asked why I don’t like to wear shoes.

My usual reply is that when I am barefoot I feel more grounded.

Now when I say that people take it one of two ways; they either think it is a joke, or they think it has some really profound meaning.

Maybe I don’t like shoes because maybe I never learned my lesson when I would cut the bottoms of my feet on sharp rocks. Maybe I should have realized that shoes are a good idea when I burned my feet on hot pavement not once, but twice.

Maybe it’s because I like the feeling of cold mud in the spring and hot sand in the summer.

Or I just don’t like wearing any ******* shoes.

Maybe the it is way that stepping grass reminds me of home, and stepping in snow also reminds me of home because I grew up in Maine, where 2 ft of snow is just your average wednesday.

Or possibly it’s how I can tell which room of my house I am in by the way the floor feels.

Maybe it’s how when I climb tree’s barefoot I end up with scratches all over me, but being so high reminds me of how hard the climb is but how beautiful the view is once you get there.

Shoe may just be too mainstream for me...

Maybe I want to feel more connected to my ancestors who didn’t wear shoes.

It may be that wish to a tree, that I wish that my bare feet would become roots tying me to the one place where I belong.

It may be that I wish I was a dog because they don’t have to wear shoes.

I might not like feeling confined. Maybe it’s a symbol for how I wish to be free, when I don’t wear shoes it’s a call for help.

Maybe I am brave, putting my feet in danger. Or maybe I am just really frickin stupid, and I am starting to think it’s the latter. Especially when I end up breaking my toes, or cutting my feet, or burning them on the roads because I was too lazy or too dumb to put any shoes on.

Or maybe I am just cracking a joke about bare feet and the ground (and people over analyze the smallest things)...
Colleen Ranney Jun 2010
When the hands of your journey reach down to guide
and that still small voice says you failed
Remember your shoes that have come through it all
Their laces have helped you prevail
One store gave you shoes of the rarest kind
Not only to try on but wear
One gave you shoes just like all the rest
To judge if life has been fair
The rarest of shoes are made from truth
And can walk you through any test
Through winds of lies and perceptions of men
This shoe lifts you over the best
I’ve had shoes from my mother and shoes from my dad
Shoes from my lovers and friend
Shoes that planned future and how it would be
Shoes that stood still tied together at ends
Always remember our journeys not measured
By those who stare down at our feet
Who are baffled by color, religion or sect
Or judge who our shoes help us meet
Wherever your journey may take you in time
Wear shoes that best suit you
The rarest of men whoever prevailed
Knew it came in the truth of their shoe
I wonder if heaven is really a place
Where our personal journeys complete,
And the shoes we wore here suddenly become
The truth that shines on our feet
©colleenranney
Auroleus Oct 2012
I remove my shoes beside my bed;
Morning comes,
I trip and fall
And bust my head.
What a terrible place for shoes!

Evening comes and I sit down in my room
After working like a ******* idiot slave.
I remove my shoes,
But I feel the pain...
So I throw my shoes across the room.
Morning comes again;
I make my way to the bathroom
And before I know anything
I'm on the ground.
What a terrible place for shoes!

The day drags on as
Headaches and embarrassment
Follow me around throughout my daily adventures.
They laugh at me and grind my cells
So I take a few vicodin.
The day comes to an end and
In my opiated stupor
I remove my shoes and
Leave them by my bedside
Once again.
Morning comes
And I'm on the ground
For the third time.

This is it.
I've had enough.
No more ******* shoes
In the house.
I train myself to leave
All shoes in the front hall.
This should do the trick.
I wake up the next morning
And all the shoes are gone!
Christ... I must have forgotten to
Lock the front door.
**** kids...
This could be a lovely children's piece sans-profanity!
Also, writing this poem as actually helped me stop leaving my **** shoes in the middle of my room or beside my bed.
Raj Arumugam Oct 2010
Ah, my feet hurt these days
walking on these hills and slopes
and it’s been seven days
since my straw shoes were thinned and with holes
and become tattered and absolutely useless.
I remember I was walking in the fields and
I could feel my feet touch the ground and I said:
Curse you, you silly straw shoes!
Is that how long you last?
Is that how you let me down
when I need you most?
Well, like humans I have known,
and so my straw shoes;
they too tire of their friends and relatives
and they too feel the burden
and inconvenience
of serving an old parent.
But I’ve just thrown old shoes away
as one throws old memories and the past away .
Let me make myself new straw shoes
as I sit below these trees and away from the crowd
and with a little peace
for an old man like me
I can be quiet in this shade
perhaps talk to myself or sing some far-off song
and make myself
straw shoes, new ones
and I’ll walk again with new shoes
as one may drop, discard
and put away all old memories
and walk afresh and anew
with no shadow of the past over one’s head.
Let me make simple straw shoes;
that will suffice, just for the purpose;
nothing fancy, just so to be able to walk comfortably
as I go about my work
on the hills and slopes and the fields…
that is all one needs…
…an old man like me just making his own straw shoes…
companion painting: Old Man Making Shoes by Yun Duseo (Korea, Joseon dynasty, late 17th ~ early 18th century)
Mark Lecuona Jan 2015
The shoes of a dead man
For you to walk
And his blade
For you to ****
Every page vanished
And every memory
But not the paper upon which it was written
And the dust
Under which it was hidden
Traces of direction
Windblown
A new future
Waiting for ripples to die
To see the reflection
And the form
That must be overcome
In the eyes of others
To determine need
Though not enough
In the eyes of others
To speak
Or live in silence
To write
Or to think
For who would listen
Or learn
From a man wearing a dead man’s shoes?
Because they are not wearing them
Only you
The blasphemy of discarding his past
But saving his presence
Is only for you to know
The willful generation
The one that learns from the past
But lives for the future
While others
Ignore the past
And die before they say amen
But not the man walking in a dead man’s shoes
Inside a book
Inside another book
Choosing the prophecy
That fits his needs
But not the worlds
Because they wouldn’t understand
Even if it was written in their language
Nobody can understand
Except the man walking in a dead man’s shoes
He knows death
And every word is life
So he reads
And prays
And does not bring who he is
Because he is not the book
He is only the man walking in a dead man’s shoes
He cannot hear anything
Or see color
Only the desperation that fills the void
Between men
And their confusion
That he is unafraid
And able to walk between people
Without explanation
Or justification
Because they wouldn’t understand
Nobody can understand
Except the man walking in a dead man’s shoes
So don’t ask
Don’t ask
You do not know how to ask
Or what to do with wisdom
They are just words
Words that amaze you
But cannot change you
Because to you they are words
To him they only describe
An approximation
A sketch
Of smoke
From a fire
That you cannot see
Or feel
Not like him
Because you are not a man wearing a dead man’s shoes
It is much worse than you think
Because you won’t confront it
You are insensitive
Dehumanized
The only ones worth living must believe as you do
Thoughts are life to you
Certain thoughts
Thoughts that may be right or may be wrong
Thoughts that cannot be described by one man the same as another
But thoughts that he will not speak
Because he is walking in a dead man’s shoes
Without the blade
For he does not come to you by the sword
For separation is only by choice
His alone
Without bloodshed
Without the desire of what you have
For he is not a thief
He will live without it
He will never take it
For his interest is not in what you have
But in what he can earn
And what is provided
As it is given by the world
As it is described
In the prophecy
That best fits his needs
Because he is a man walking in a dead man’s shoes
Kewayne Wadley Jan 2019
It takes alot
Loving you in these shoes.
It isn't horrible.
The way they fit.
The way they look.
Loving you in these shoes of mine.
It doesn't take much effort.
To slide my feet in.
Tie them, before a single step is taken.
Knowing all that goes unseen.
The padding & cushioning.
The flex of each step,
The urgency of how I long.
Revealing how much I've thought of you.
The many steps and puddles these shoes have walked.
They aren't waterproof.
They aren't well protected from wear & tear.
Loving you in these shoes of mine.
They are far from dress shoes,
Not even close to casual shoes.
They aren't the type of brand shoe everyone is in line to buy.
Stacy Adams, Adidas, Jordan.
Loving you in these shoes,
No one knows where to find them.
How many times they've come loose.
How many times the cushion has been replaced.
Loving you in these shoes of mine.
Knowing you've checked the tags of the name brand shoes.
The appeal of readily available colors
inspired by my wife Vanessa....


Can you walk a mile
In my Sunday shoes?
Go to places I've been long and wide
Or some places you'll pay your dues?

Can you wear my shoes
That danced in God's praises
Cutting a step or two
Head reared back and voice raises high
Those old dusty Sunday shoes.

I walked places far as well a near
And back again to anywhere
To any place I want to go from here
And then again.

To marches long for freedom's cry
To church on a dusty country road
To the fields where cotton grow high
In my old dusty Sunday shoes.

Can you just walk in
These old dusty shoes?
Being foe or either friend
In those old dusty shoes.

If i have to walk to hell and back
I would in these dusty old shoes
But I only walk to church in them in fact
These old dusty Sunday shoes.

I'll keep walking in them until
The Good Master calls me home
Hoping someone will someday fill
These old dusty Sunday shoes.

Dec. 2007
I can recommend two things in life
Friends and shoes.
A friend will defend 'till the end
Shoes will let you cruise the streets
A friend will try to mend you when broken
Shoes will soften, and mould to you
Like a lover in bed.
Friends pick you up when you are down
Shoes become missiles ready to be thrown.
But, as a woman I can say the play
from shoes is better than friendly play,
Shoes attract, friends detract.
Both are needed
Just not on the same day!
© JLB

“If *** were shoes, I'd wear you out. But I wouldn't wear you out in public.”
― Jarod Kintz
“When you're in jail, a good friend will be trying to bail you out. A best friend will be in the cell next to you saying, '****, that was fun'.”
― Groucho Marx
Mark Goodwin Feb 2012
I am The Shoes of Shoes,
which are Solomon’s. Let him polish
me with the oil from his brow, for his gloss
is better than sunshine.

Because of the fragrance of thy ointment buffed
upon me, thy name
is Scent Shine, therefore do the ****** shoes
love thy feet. Stretch me,
with your Shoe-Tree, and I will run
& rejoice with thy feet through
gardens & woods, and across mountains alike.

I am leather, but comely, O ye Daughters
of Shoeshopingham, as The Pile Beneath
the Prophesised Viaduct, and as in the abundant
bottom of The Wardrobe of Solomon.

Look not upon me, because I am leather,
but put me upon thy feet for I
am thy soles.

I am the Rose of Shoe, and the Lilly of The Laces.

As the strong shoes among thorns, so
is my love among The Shod.
As the tongue that tightens to the fruit of the foot, so is
my beloved among The Shod.
His left foot is in my left purse, and his right
foot is my right, tight.
The Polish of My Beloved, behold, cometh
glinting off llyns, he cometh leaping upon
the mountains, with both of me tight on his feet.

Looketh fourth through The Round Window
of Wisdom, through The Lattice see
him shoeing himself with my flesh.

Take us the socked foxes, the little foxes that chew & spoil,
for our shodding is tender.
My Loved Shod’s feet are mine and my leather is his.
Until the day break, and the unshod shadows flee, turn
my Loved Shod, and be thou like the shoe young on the mountains.

Behold, thou art fair, my shoes, behold thou art shoes as fast
as a flock of goats over the Mountain of Shoedon.
Thy laces are like soft strands of moss, which have been spun
& woven in the Workshops of Acorns by The Grubs of Oak.
Thy eyelets are like the sweet slots in which nestle
the seeds of the pomegranate.
Thy tongues are like scarlet leaves fallen from speaking
trees, and thy squeak as I walk in thee is comely.
Thy heal is like the shield that should’ve been
fashioned for Achilles.
Thy two toe caps are as sleek & pert as the twin otters
that fish among the lilies.
How beautiful are thee, shoes for feet, O Goddess’s daughters,
the joints of thy soft foot-slot smooth as the gleam
of jewels, the work of the hands of a cunning cobbler.

O Solomon set me twin shoes as seals
upon thy feet, for Love is as strong
as The Road to Dead we must follow. O
my Loved Shod! for every one
of thy steps you make

in me is my bliss.
from 'Shod', by Mark Goodwin, published by Nine Arches Press

digitally produced audio poem version: http://soundcloud.com/kramawoodgin/song-of-shoes
Kartikeya Jain Feb 2018
Why I only wear Shiny shoes?

Every morning,
I would wear my shiny shoes
and run off to the field
for a game of football
and come back bruised and scarred
bleeding out of my mouth
but I was smiling.
You see, my shoes were still shiny.
Every morning,
I would go to school
bragging about my shiny shoes
and come back
with dried tears
and red hands as if
someone hit them really hard
but I was smiling.
You see, my shoes were still shiny.
Every morning,
I would see my friend
waving at me from a distance.
We were our only friends.
I was his SpongeBob, he was my Patrick.
One day, Patrick left.
But I was smiling,
You see, my shoes were still shiny.
All this while,
Nobody cared that the
insides of my shoes were
being torn apart
because my shoes were still shiny,
because I was still smiling.
Robin Carretti Feb 2019
The London*
underground
Shoes Chatterbox
Choo Choo train
Mr. Earl Gray
Greyhound
Doing cartwheels
Head over heels

Milk the Cow
"Going Moo" in her
Jimmy Choo
Yahoos
Kickapoos
The Odd Mom
Cocker Doddle Doo
Goody Two shoes
'Peekapoo"

The women living
in her shoes
All Mighty God
  
The dog to chew
Her most expensive
shoe
Lasous
The genius
La Cruz

Goody two shoes
That's show biz
Vacation Dr. Seuss
John Hughes
The master of clues
La mousse
Love truce X-File

Instagram, please smile
In her ballet slippers
He's at the Hub
drinking beer
In the London Fog
Her wooden clogs

Ladybird chirper
He's down to his
goulashes?

Got sidetrack hot
fever lovesick
La muse shoes
Cozy at the caboose
Playing golf in the
Gulf of Mexico

You ain't got a thing
if you don't have
the shoes to swing
Kick up your shoes and
start to sing
This is a comedy of all Goodie two shoes tied into one find you we all own a pair of shoes and have some fun
michelle reicks Jun 2011
don’t worry about decisions anymore.
I can think for you. Here,
buy this brand of tampons.
Watch me now. It’s more absorbent. Here, stick them in your ears. You’ll have
s   o  f   t  e  r
t   h  o  u  g  h  t  s.

Pillowy white fluuuufffyyythoughts.
    
You don’t need your brain anyway.
no more thinking,
I can think for you.
here, watch me now.
Look at these happy plastic
assless women
wearing delicate bras,
so beautiful.
Why don’t you buy one?

they’re uncomfortable

well you’re ugly,
unwanted,
but you wear what
you
want.
Wear this bra.
Maybe it will keep your heart from aching.

You don’t need your heart; I can feel.

I can feel for you.




So watch me. Hey, look here.
Buy these shoes. They make your legs look like celery stalks, but your husband will “do it” with you again. That’s what you want, right?

right.

Put them on. Please your man, make the food, wear the shoes. Don’t think.
Please your man, feed the kids, do the work. Wear the shoes. Don’t you dare think.

I can
Think For You.


Aptitude is overrated. Your biggest asset is
your body, bereft of a brain. Don’t think. I can think for you.
Wear this. Buy that.
Spend your husband’s money, make him happy.
Please your man,
make the food,
wear the shoes.
Now, for your anxiety,
take these pills.
Three little blue pills, one big orange pill, one little white pill.
This one makes you skinny.
This one makes your teeth white.
This one makes you dumb, this one makes you numb.
Don’t think. Don’t worry about where your husband is.
He’ll probably come home tonight.
There is no divorce on TV, so it must not exist.
Don’t think. Oh, you poor little ****** woman.
Tiny, powerless drone robot. Don’t think.
Robots don’t have brains.
Dolls don’t have brains.
****,
***,
*******,
legs,
don’t have brains.




Close your mouth.
Don’t speak.
I can speak for you.

That bra is uncomfortable?
Shut up.
You want me to wear a ******?
Shut up.

You want to be yourself, with the brain, with the ******, with the
*******, with the child. You can’t have all and be free. Choose.
Don’t choose. I will choose for you.


Please      your     man

Make      the      food

wear      the      shoes

There will be no discussion.
There will be no negotiation.
There is no **** on TV, so it must not exist.

No thinking
no thoughts
no brain,

just ****, ***, *****, legs.
wear the shoes, please your man, make the food.

Eat. Sleep. Breathe. Work.
Die.

Recognize the regulations,
recognize your place.
Your /place/ is in the shoes,

those   d e v i l      traps

eating your sweet feet.

all the time--wear them
They are
comfortable. They are ****.
don’t think
don’t cry
don’t moan
whisper
whimper
Shut up. Don’t speak.
I will
speak for you.
Clocks, computers, ****, ***.

You
Are
Nothing
TheDaisyDancer Jun 2015
The shoes were red,
and stood at 7 inches high,
perfect to look sophisticated,
and to feel like she was touching the sky.

Everyone criticized her,
because they thought she wore them to get attention,
and co-workers would confront her,
to give her a ***** mention.

Only the people don't understand,
because she feels self conscious of her height,
and the heels are the only opportunity,
to make her feel alright.

              . . .

The shoes were brown,
covered with mud and dirt,
shoe laces tangled in a mess,
and didn't have any way to avert.

People overlooked him,
when he wanted something,
because they thought he didn't care,
but who are they to be judging!

The truth is,
in fact he did care,
but didn't have enough money,
to buy nice shoes to wear.

             . . .

The shoes were neon,
like the color of the sun,
they had bright shoes laces,
that he wears when he runs.

People thought they were ugly,
because they were off brand,
and they lacked the character,
that all the cool shoes had.

But really he was trying,
to just fit in,
but they would reject him,
every time he begins.

              . . .

Be kind,
for everyone is fighting a conflict,
that you know nothing about,
so don't judge nor depict.
This poem is based off  the book, "To **** a mockingbird" by Harper Lee. "You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view . . . until you climb into his skin and walk around in it."- Atticus Finch. Thank you!
there was a little octopus the poor chap had the blues
he found it very hard when he was buying shoes
with so many legs shopping was a curse
and no shoes to buy this it made him worse
with four legs of left and four legs right
no one had the shoes the poor lite mite
so he had some made at the local cobbler store
making shoes for eight feet he had never done before
he made the shoes to fit made them very neat
made them made to measure for fit his little feet
octopus was happy now he had his shoes
he began to smile again and took away the blues
What makes you smile?
What makes you laugh?
I want to know
So I could do that

What makes you sad?
What makes you cry?
I wonder why
These tears fall down my face
Every time I think of you and him
I wonder how you've been
If you stayed strong
I'm thinking of you all night long

And my shoes will dance with you
My shoes will dance

As you sit here
Right by my side
I turn left
Then I turn back right

Can't stand a moment
Lost in your eyes
As I gaze
I realize some tears
Stream down my face
Because I'm thinking of you
I wonder how you've been
Will I wait long?
I'm suffocating with this song

But my shoes will dance with you
My shoes will dance

As the light turns to darkness
And the music drops dead~silence

My shoes will dance

As the dance floor now widens
And the gym's filled with romances

My shoes will dance

As the spotlight surrounds you
He takes you by the hand and holds you

My shoes will dance

As you look up to smile at him
I hope you do look down and see
That my shoes they dance
My shoes do dance

My shoes are dancing
With you
This here is a song, one of my earliest compositions. This was written around 5 years ago, and this was the first of many songs I wrote for that someone who truly mattered at that time in my past.
John Julien Jan 2014
My Shoes

Someone once said, “Walk a mile in my shoes”
If you asked me to indeed I’d refuse
They protect me from bruise, respect me to choose
Which pair to prepare me to win or to lose
If footprints are clues, mine would be *****
Some shoes leave tracks, some shoes are flirty
If my shoes could talk, you be they’d be wordy
And here is what they would say:

“we protect you from weather, we’re always together
You cannot survive with just one
We provide you with style and last for a while
Until our job is done

Some of us new, but most of us old
We’re essential to everyday life
We’re there on the stairs, the court, in the car,
And even to marry your wife

We’re red, or tan, we’re **** and span
And proud ‘til the day we retire
‘til we say our goodbyes in the shoebox in the sky
Or perhaps the ol’ telephone wire”

Someone once said “walk a mile in my shoes”
If you asked me to indeed I’d refuse
For my shoes are unique, with every lace and squeak
They speak, oh yes they speak
Until they sing the telephone wire blues
Donall Dempsey Sep 2018
PINK HIGH HEEL SHOES

I remember drinking
pink champagne

from your pink
high heel shoes.

I remember making love
with you

wearing only
your pink high heel shoes.

I remember
how your pink high heel shoes

became

candle holders
ashtrays
(where you stashed your hash)

deadly weapons
in an...OW!...row!

& you ask me
do I remember

your pink high heel shoes?

Do I?
I do!
Cherry Cupcake Jun 2013
I need a pair of new shoes
They told me shoes show ones personality
I got no time to lose
Trying to walk to a store, feet pulled by gravity

Shall I buy a new pair or just borrow one?
Not sure I could share shoes with someone
See I'd love to be in your shoes one day
Knowing you're also walking around feeling down
Looking for someone to whom you'd give your shoes away
But for the moment being I don't fit in my own


Y.
Messy, drafty!
Craig Dotti Mar 2010
Those Chicago kids danced till' they were teary eyed in them **** crepe-soled shoes

He said to me, "Mamma I walked my little crepe-soled shoes into the heart of the South and said 'Hello World!'"

And God be ****** if he wasn't wearing crepe-soled shoes when we beat the man out of that ****** trash

His body lay there
lacerated and bruised like goin' ten rounds with Rocky Marciano. His face was like a sack of potatoes with holes in it. On his feet were spats, no, crepe-soled shoes.

Did you hear the news?
Black boy's struttin' his stuff in his new soul-shoes

As we lit his things on fire that ***** *******'s crepe-soled shoes just wouldn't burn but once they did, the flame would not go out
Terry Collett May 2016
While putting on her shoes she remembers
Father calling her from a far room to
Prepare for church, to wear her best, and to
Shine her shoes. She slips her foot into the

Shoes, placing a finger behind the heel
To lever in, the foot sinking down with
A tidy feel. I want to see my face
In the shoes, Father would call back then, and

She remembers spitting phlegm onto the
Black leather of her shoes and brushing with
The old yellow duster Mother used to
Polish the furniture. She pushes her

Other foot into the shoe, ******* it
In with ease, sensing the heel fit in snug.
She gazes at her black shoes, unpolished,
Unkempt. How Father would turn in his grave

To see them as such, she thinks, drawing a
Tongue licked finger along the toe of both
Shoes. I want to see my face in your shoes,
Father would bellow, his loud heavy tread

Entering the room twenty years before,
His hawk eyes scanning her dress, her hair, her
Shoes.  And woe betide you, my girl, if they’re
Not shiny, Father said, towering tall

Over her, peering down overhead. She
Sits up staring at the door of her old
Room. No more shoe inspections; no more smacks
And smarts. Father’s silent now, Father’s dead.
AN OLD POEM.
RW Dennen Feb 2015
People of peace walk gently
People of strength never be stilled
Abundance awaits those with courage

RW Dennen-


Stay out of Iraq the spirits
pleaded...
Eyes wide opened, boots and shoes lined up in order
in almost perfect straight lines in Philadelphia July 2005
Symbolic death shoes of civilians out of synchronization
in a war of soldiers

Under a small tree meticulously placed
we're children's shoes in a perfect solid circle
I read o months of age on tags
I read 8 years old on tags
I read 12 years old on tags
And on and on the children's lists grew,
as wisdom must have waned
and common decency
was once cherished

These shoes and boots sadly became
the dimishment of human beings,
horizontal and vertical rectangular
snapshots of once smiling faces
all in the name of war, they vanished all too soon

And I saw running tears and tears being held back
and I felt lumpy throat feelings in unison
with the rest but in cemetery silence

Touching deep feelings so overwhelming
is to touch a false bent flower and flowers
and pictures of deceased soldiers and civilians
and letters once presented at doorways
throughout America
America cried its sadness and disbelief,
the vanished breathers of life giving air,
Our sons, our daughters,
Our mothers, our fathers,
Our sisters, our brothers,
Our relatives,
Our close friends,
All perished, like a vampire that ***** away the life blood of
the once innocent

I noticed mostly tourists coming in droves from Market Street
towards us volunteers who were located adjacent to the
visitor's center side entrance as silence like before still prevailed
And like before the atmosphere prevailed even stronger
as these boots and shoes became tombstones

And tender hearts became tombstones
broken into small pieces
Passions never changed into loud speech

And the green turf
rolled down towards the sidewalk
like a green carpet holding all those boots and shoes
like a quilt interwoven with boot and civilian
shoe memories about days that should never
happen again...
A heart rendering experience and what the 'Bush Regime brought about'
WistfulHope Aug 2014
This is when she can become herself.
Not anyone special.
No one famous.
She is not anyone at times like this.
Just her.
Moving in ways never to be understood.
Defying gravity with her shoes.
The children call them Magic Shoes.
The world moves because she tells it to.
She needs no one.
Her only companion is the music.
She likes it this way.
They become one.
She is music, the music is her.
They are a blur of color and sound.
The music is the most beautiful rainbow.
It dances across the space.
It is the spot light.
Enhancing her.

Her problems fade.
There is no war, no disease, no hate, her mother is not dying.
The floor is far beneath her, the people are far below, too far to touch.

Comparisons are not able to be made here.
She is fierce with power and passion.
The one place she is strong.
Most would crave praise in such a place.
But no applause is necessary.
Her Magic Shoes send all the feedback she needs in their echoes.
Energy races though her body.
But by watching you can not taste it the way she tastes it.
She can not help but grin.
She feels unstoppable.
She is captive to the music.

Her feet have grown to the Magic Shoes.
They are intertwined.
There are blisters and cuts.
Sweat, and blood.
It is all part of the game.
They are a small price to pay.
They fade away as she continues.
She flows effortlessly.
She is nothing.
No one.

Elegantly she can float.
She floats like the feathers the ducks leave behind in the river.
Like the toy rafts they used to make.
She is reborn here.
The mock titles given to her fall away.
No longer is she plain, boring.
No judgement can linger.
Harsh words are gone.
Time does not exist.
No one can torment her here.
She can not bully herself.

Being in the Magic Shoes she is calm.
When she puts on the Magic Shoes the world changes from a dull grey place of monotone sounds.
What is felt are the colors here.
The sounds.
She feels joy.
Purple.
Birds chirping.
Strength.
Green.
A downpour.
Weightlessness.
Yellow.
An opera.
Excitement.
Red.
The hushed hum of a distant helicopter.
The music is so loud it is not heard.
Only felt.
Music is her favorite emotion.

The floor hurts.
This is the only moment her trance ends.
Falling.
She is broken.
Bent out of shape.
It is the source of her imperfections.
She can not be a professional.
Her bones are wrong.

I will never be a ballet dancer.
I have a slight deformity in my bones in my legs; they grew crooked,
not enough to to notice in passing,
just enough to prevent me from dancing.

This is an old piece, a vignette actually, I wrote for a class once, slightly modified.
chen Mar 2012
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Gurleen kaur Oct 2018
Shoes we wear,
Shoes that get tear,
And when they tear,
We bring a new pair.
The life is just like this,
Change yourself ,
In order to bear the world itself.

Shoes that carry our load,
No matter how bored.
Life is like it,
No matter how many cramps,
But always play like champs.

Shoes we clean to sluff off the dust,
Similarly cleaning evil thoughts is must.
Those costly and and branded shoes are of no use,
Till the soles are loose.
Just like it life has no mean,
Without the soul in which we lean.

A shoe is useless,
If its partner is missing.
Similarly life is fruitless
If togetherness is lacking.
Live together to vision the dream,
Work together to leisure the dream.

Even the small effort can make you learn,
If you are keen enought to make that minor turn.
Make your life that amazing,
And be the brightest star,
On whom the Universe is gazing.
chen Mar 2012
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Dorothy A May 2016
They could practically be heard arguing throughout the whole diner, but they were oblivious to their small audience of onlookers in the heat of their conflict. Tori stood there with her hands on her hips as her husband, Hank, made himself clear that he was upset. He was sitting up at the counter on one of the barstools eating his chili. On the other side, Tori poured herself a much needed cup of coffee.

“You’re a waitress, not Mother Theresa! A mother with two hungry mouths!” he bellowed out to her. “That’s less money that goes into our pockets! What the hell were you thinking, Tor?”

“Was only helping a poor guy out!” she shot back. “He looked hungry and—big deal—so I bought him something to eat! So forget it, Hank, cuz I’m not sorry!” She remained defiant in her stance, unapologetic in her Good Samaritan role. Her boss never allowed her to give free food away, so the food was on her. It was a hot dog and fries, one time, some bacon and eggs, another.  She got the man bagels, donuts, toast, oatmeal—whatever she could supply with his usual cup of coffee he ordered. It was obvious from the word go that he had little in his pocket, and he could barely put a tip on the table—usually a nickel or a dime, sometimes a few pennies. He wore the same shabby tee shirt, flannel shirt and bummy jeans. And those pitiful shoes—with his dingy white socks poking through at the big toe of his right foot—that was pitiful.  So what if she had two young children? Nobody was going into the poor house because she bought a poor guy a few meals.

“Well, stop buying him food! No more!” Hank commanded. Tori gave him her best you’re not the boss of me look as he put his spoon down and walked over to the booth towhere the man with unkempt, silvery hair, and an untrimmed beard, sat.  That was his usual spot, and that was Tori’s booth to cover.  

The man just stared at him, not seemingly startled by the younger man who boldly confronted him. “Hey, look!” Hank said, lowly, yet sharply, “Straight up and no *******. Get a job. Get a life. Just quit taking advantage of my wife. Got it?”

It didn’t seem like the intimidation was working. The man just stared at Hank, his deep, soulful, brown eyes could penetrate right through him, and Hank wanted to shift his gaze away. He didn’t though, for that wouldn’t have given him the menacing upper hand. “Well!” he demanded, fidgety and frustrated, “What’s your problem?” The response was simply the same silent stare and Hank blurted out through clenched teeth, “Don’t take nothing no more from my wife!”

Unexpectedly, the man placed his hand upon Hank’s and said, “My son, don’t be angry. Sin no more. I give you my blessing, and go now in peace”. Hank quickly pulled his hand away, his face burning with embarrassment. A few guys at table nearby snickered at the sight of the pair.

“The guy’s nuts!” Hank got up and moved back to the counter. “What does he think? He’s Jesus or something?”

“Hank, quit stirring up drama or you gotta leave! You’re gonna drive out business!” Al chimed in. Al was in the kitchen helping the cooks in the back to get out orders. Now if anyone had a right to kick Hank out it was him. He owned the place.

Hank, still enraged, pointed his finger at Tory and promised, “We’ll talk later!” He quickly stormed out. Tory was not to be dictated to, feeling vindicated for her kind actions.

Well, everyone thought the man who tried to bless Hank was harmless, off kilter, maybe, but harmless. He didn’t seem to cause any trouble, and he minded his own business—only spoke until spoken to, and it was always with grace. Was there something special about him? It was only Tori and fellow waitress, Bonnie, who put more stock into this than anyone else would.

“And what if he is God?” Bonnie asked.

Al scoffed, trying to keep the conversation at a low minimum.  “You sound just as loony as he is”

“Well? And what if he was?” Tori backed up Bonnie. “Or maybe even an angel! You know they can come in many disguises! Maybe God is trying to test us to see if we really give a ****. Did you ever think of that?”

Al shook his head. He couldn’t believe he was having this conversation. “Test us?” he asked back as if Tori had no sense at all. “You’ve watched too many TV shows!” He raised his hands up in a grand fashion of showmanship, knife in hand,” Or maybe I’m not the owner of Al’s Diner, but I’m really God myself”, he mocked.  “So, as God, my dear little children, I command you back to work! Come on, now! Chop, chop!” He started to shoo everyone away. “How you think we are going to feed the masses, huh? With loaves and fishes? Customers! Customers! Get those orders moving!”  

The smells and sizzling sound of hamburgers on the grill were enticing to the senses. Tori and Bonnie went back to busily retrieving orders, and Al went to chopping some tomatoes, but soon he was playfully tapped on the shoulder.  It was Amber, another waitress who never seemed privy to the conversation.  “You remember this song?” she asked him, singing the tune in an off-key way, “What if God was one of us, just a slob like one of us….”

“Just a stranger on a bus, trying to make his way home…” Tori sung along, cheerfully moving about, adding a pretty, more melodious tone to the song.  

“Exactly”, Bonnie exclaimed, enthusiastically. “Like God’s gone undercover!”

Al rolled his eyes, for he thought he made himself clear he was done with this talk. But he couldn’t help but get a kick out his quirky waitresses. “Sure I know that tune—a few decades back—blonde chick—what’s her name?” he asked, smirking.  

“Joan Osborne”, Bonnie proudly stated. “Cool song, too. Makes you think a bit…at least for me.”

“And so why not ask him who he is?” Joey asked. “He’s got a name.”

It was like everyone forgot Joey was in the room though he was busily busing tables and sweeping floors. Tory, Bonnie and Al stopped what they were doing and intently looked at the teen. He seemed to ask a sincere question.  Al burst out laughing. “Now someone’s talking sense, and chalk it up to the kid with good wits. Yeah, Joey, these ladies just want to exist in fantasy land. Go, Team Al!”

Joey shook his head and said, soberly, “Not taking anyone’s side. I just think he’s got a name and he’s got a story behind him…and it isn’t what you think, Tori…or even you, Al.”

Al waved his hand to dismiss the whole thing. “Yeah, his name is probably Ralph, or something. Even then, I bet Tory would believe he is the Almighty right there in the flesh!”

“I would!” Tory shot back. She looked at Joey and answered, “Maybe you do think I’m as bad as Al does, but you’re too polite to admit it…but…yeah…I did ask him his name.”

“And, so?” Al asked, pretending with wide eyes to be full wonder, like he was clinging to every word, anxiously. “What’s his name?”

He was simply finding humor at her expense, and Tori wished she never said a thing. She reluctantly replied, “I am what I am.”

What?” Bonnie asked. “What does that mean?”  

Al replied, “I am what I am! Well, that sure don’t mean Popeye, sweetie!” With a comical, gravelly voice, he did his best Popeye imitation, “I yam what I yam and that’s all I am!”, squinting up one of his eyes he teased Tori, “Got that Olive Oyl?”

Bonnie and Joey laughed along at the sight of him, and Al added, “Look! I may be practically an atheist, but I’m not ignorant to the bible. That’s just what God said to Moses when he asked the same question!”

Tory defended the poor man that she so proudly helped. “So what if he does think he is God? He’s not doing anyone any harm, is he?” Al completely ignored her, so Tory to turned to Joey, and asked again, “What harm is there in it?”

Joey slightly smiled at Tory, trying to remain respectful to her beliefs, and said, “Truth be told, I don’t know much about God. I’m not a churchy person. He pointed over at the poor man in the booth and said, “I just know if God existed, it’s not him.”
  
Tori was saddened by Joey’s words. It was not that because he didn’t believe her ideas were feasible—that maybe God was testing them—but that he didn’t even know if God existed. The youth nowadays—who did they have to look up to?  Who guided them? The internet? Their cell phones? So many people seemed to have walked away from their faith or had none at all. And Al reminded Tori so much of her own dad. She grew up in a home without religion. Her mom had a vague notion of God, but her dad was a huge skeptic that had the same mocking spirit that Al had. Neither her father or Al were bad guys, but there were no miracles in their worldview. There was nothing divine, and everything was so ordinary and practical.

But Tori always felt awestruck by the world, nature and the animals, a curious minded child. She was the one who had that childlike faith—even now as a grown woman—and she yearned to know God, personally, not just know about Him. She just had to believe that this world and the universe were not all just for nothing, not at all a happenstance, not a just a brief journey on this earth and then that was it. It was after searching and yearning that Tori went to her friend’s church, and soon became a Catholic. She might have been alone in her family in this endeavor, but it gave her life more meaning.

Tori would look at the figure of Jesus upon the crucifixion and oddly was comforted by the sight of him that might bring others revulsion or doubt—the nails piercing his hands and feet, the thorn of crowns, the blood, the tragic sight of his lifeless body so cruelly tacked up upon the cross.  She raised her own two children to know God, and Hank’s lukewarm feelings did not match hers. He wasn’t much help in that department at all. But she knew by looking through the bible that true life was about helping other people, that God loved the poor and the downcast. To find your life, you had to lose your life. To feel exalted, you had to humble yourself. To give your life, to save someone else’s—well, that was the greatest gift you could give. That means you gave it all.  She might not have been the smartest person in the world, but she didn’t need to be bible scholar to figure such things out.  

Well, it would be a while before Tori would see her special customer again. But one day she ran back into the kitchen and told Al, excitedly, “His name is Bill!”

Al shot her a strange look, and then he got the connection. “Oh, so that’s God name?” he said jokingly.

Tori pulled him by the arm and took him out front, summoning Bonnie and Joey over, too. Bill was sitting in the same booth he often did, but there at the counter stool sat a petite, sixty-something-year-old woman whom everyone was about to meet. “Al, Bonnie, Joey, this is Bill’s sister, Mary”, Tori introduced her. “She shared with me about Bill’s story, and I think you should know, too.”   She looked like Bill, but had black dyed hair and was better put together. There was a warm and gentle way about her that intrigued Tori. And she sat there to shield her brother by keeping him out of the conversation, for she didn't want to upset her brother by mentioning something that might cause him pain.

Actually, they all were intrigued by her story.  Mary had told them that Bill once had a family, a wife and two sons. He couldn’t keep a steady job, though, and he was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and schizophrenia. His wife divorced him years ago and moved out of state with their two boys. His sons never tried to contact him, and he hasn’t seem ever since. For quite a while, Bill lived on his own, but he didn’t take good care of himself. He was living more poorly than ever—not eating right or caring for himself, erratically taking his medication, and so it wasn’t a surprise that he lived a deluded life. “He does strange stuff like that, think he is God”, Mary admitted to Tori. “He’s been made fun of a lot for acting that way, and it’s my job to watch over him and see that he is safe. So now I help take care of him, and he lives with me. Bill’s always been too proud to accept my help, but the doctor says being with me will help to give him a better life”. Mary was a widow, and she didn’t have much money herself, but she did what she could to protect her brother.  

Al looked embarrassed, knowing now the truth about Bill and realizing he was making fun when he should have known better. Mary gave Tori a huge hug. “And thank you”, she said to Tory, “for looking out for my brother, too.”  Everyone, even Al, was deeply touched by their embrace.  

“You know that Tori is a saint”, Bonnie bragged on her behalf to reiterate the same sentiment. “There should be more people like her.”

Tori remained humble and disagreed, “No, I’m just doing what we should all do in this world. If anything, it teaches me that we should all see God in every opportunity.”

Al whispered into Tori’s ear and told her, “You want to give him something to eat again, well now don't bother paying for it. It's on me”.  She smiled at him like was ready to give him a big hug, and he added, “Don’t think this makes me all buying all this God stuff—or anything”.

“And why not?” she asked.  

He replied with his own question, the ultimate question that people have been asking for ages. "Why would any god allow a man to suffer like that? Just look at him! How could that happen and you still think there is some guy in the sky that's all warm and fuzzy, like some invisible Teddy bear?"  

"Oh, you mean so how can God be loving, fair and merciful?", she snapped back, hurt that Al would make faith sound so childish and idiotic. Tori thought a moment, and simply replied, "I could ask the same question. Is life fair? Is it just wishful thinking? Actually, all my life I've wondered such things. The difference between us though is I don't know all the answer any better than you...but I still believe."

Al waved his hand away at her, "Whatever..."

"Wait!", Tori commanded him as he walked away. Al stopped and turned to face her like he was more than through with this conversation.  She said, "Maybe if us mere mortals did our job on earth of helping others, it would better a whole nother story. You'd probably have a different point of view, Al."

She didn't expect Al to have some bolt of enlightenment when it came to God, but before he went back to the kitchen he left her with words she wished he didn’t say. “All those people way back then…all those prophets and saints…supposing they were around today. You think they'd they stand up to today's world? I don't. Wouldn’t they on meds, too? I'd say we wouldn't see them any differently than we'd see Bill.”  Blindsided, she never did know how to follow up with all that. Al just knew how to rain on her nice parade.

Joey never said anything about that day, but when Bill came in again, Tori surely took special notice of them sitting together for a while. When she passed by the table, Joey was watching Bill walk around, and she quickly noticed the new black and green athletic shoes on his feet. Even on him, they looked sharp.

”They fit alright?”  Joey asked. Bill nodded, and shook the boy’s hand. He never said anything about it, but his silly, old grin—along with a few missing teeth—was priceless. He truly was happy to get those shoes. The old ones, with the hole in the toes, remained on the floor to be pitched out.  

Tori had to ask Joey, “You bought those for him? That’s so sweet of you!”

Joey smiled. “I just never could stand those beat up, old shoes”, he replied. “They are a good brand, but didn’t put me back that much. I’m not making a big deal about it, though. I’m not even going to tell anyone I did it. Only telling you, because you asked.”

“Makes you feel good, doesn’t it? Like it really makes a difference”.

“Yeah, it does. It’s like buying God a pair of shoes.”

Did he just say it was buying God a pair of shoes? How odd to hear that from Joey, but how that statement impacted her, and Tori would never forget that.  She gave Joey a peck on the cheek and a hug. He was like a little brother to him. She didn’t feel old enough to be a mother figure, but she felt some kind of sisterly feeling for him.

Joey went on to explain, “Yeah, I’ve been thinking a lot about Bill, lately. He lost his job, his family—he lost everything. No, he’s not God, but I was thinking…though I don’t know that much about religion or God, I thought that if you do
Emily Budrow May 2015
today when i woke up i was frightened.
i tried to walk straight even though i felt hollow inside.
and although he wasn't here, he was still on my mind in the strangest of ways.

i thought of him and how he likes to buy things.
sometimes, and for a reason i'm still unsure of,
i mind what he buys.
say, for example, if it's for me i mind.
if it's for himself, i do not.

i thought of his old shoes and how he has yet to part with them.
i wonder why he buys things he doesn't necessarily need but only wants and refuses to buy things he does needs but doesn't want.
i wonder if people looking at his old shoes could make the same observation.
i thought for a moment but decided it didn't matter,
he loves his old shoes.

sometimes i think of "us" and how he looks at me as though i'm something really nice.
i think,
maybe,
i am old shoes, too.
i know he doesn't need me but maybe it is enough for him that he wants me.
if he neglects the things he needs and only goes after the things that he wants then maybe i'm not so bad after all.
perhaps i, too, am i pair of old shoes.
perhaps it will also be hard for him to part with me.

i wonder if others could also make this observation.
A.A.
August 31, 2014

I wrote this after sitting outside on one of the last days of Summer. I remember watching him skate in his torn up pair of Vans. I laughed at his continuous attempts at landing a trick before questioning him on his shoes. He simply said "they're comfortable, I don't want to get another pair because they just won't fit the same."
I hoped he thought the same about me.
zhuo Mar 2012
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Chijioke Nnamani Jul 2016
People are looking at your shoes

Heels, sandals, flats with a moose

Boots, converse, whatever you choose


People are looking at your shoes

If x is one and y is two

My shoe is me and your shoe is you

Laces, bows, straps or buckles

It could leave me wowed or staring with chuckles


People are looking at your shoes

Heels for status

Laces for class

Boots for the rugged

Buckles for sass

Shoes tell a story of the places we've tread

If we are hungry or if we're well fed

Shoes paint a picture of how we view life

One fun adventure or if we need a knife


People are looking at your shoes

But hey,

I say walk bare footed by the sea and be free, be free to be you

Because people are people and you are you
Inspired by a new pair of shoes ;)

— The End —