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"verruca" poems
I look down at my feet, toes adorned with chipped nail varnish, a pitiful plaster clinging to the sole, and I grimace at the purple marks, reddening blisters, cicatrices of stories long forgotten. The ***** of my feet are thin and worn, my heels rubbed raw from shoes I have loved and shoes I have detested, faded scars from childhood accidents. I have aged hating my feet, the discoloured skin, dotted with odious callouses, my throbbing, wrinkled soles. They have grown with me, from tiny clumps unrecognisable as a foetus, to wide, long size 7s. My toes are misshapen, twisting this way and that, freckled with sun kisses from foreign countries. They’ve been battered and bruised repeatedly, victims of my hurtling abuse and mortal neglect. I have punished them with verruca socks and freezing ointments, pin ****** small shoes, razor blades, nail clippers and not once have I nurtured them, soaked them with praise. These feet have walked me up mountains, aided me in athletic championships, withstood six inch heels on weekends, ran me through marathons, enduring my never-ending physical torment and though they may buckle, with weeping blisters and aching pains, dry skin, broken bones and sprained ankles, they will recover, rebuilding the scabrous skin. Regardless of how unstable my life may become in later years, whether I am stranded on a deserted island, or walking the ***** streets of the city, no room to call my own, my feet will always, undoubtedly, lead me to safety. And when I am old and withered, an exhausted heap of human life, with my last dying breath, I will thank my durable, reliable feet.
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May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 11:28 AM UTC
leah-perry
My Feet and I
I look down at my feet, toes adorned with chipped nail varnish, a pitiful plaster clinging to the sole, and I grimace at the purple marks, reddening blisters, cicatrices of stories long forgotten. The ***** of my feet are thin and worn, my heels rubbed raw from shoes I have loved and shoes I have detested, faded scars from childhood accidents. I have aged hating my feet, the discoloured skin, dotted with odious callouses, my throbbing, wrinkled soles. They have grown with me, from tiny clumps unrecognisable as a foetus, to wide, long size 7s. My toes are misshapen, twisting this way and that, freckled with sun kisses from foreign countries. They’ve been battered and bruised repeatedly, victims of my hurtling abuse and mortal neglect. I have punished them with verruca socks and freezing ointments, pin ****** small shoes, razor blades, nail clippers and not once have I nurtured them, soaked them with praise. These feet have walked me up mountains, aided me in athletic championships, withstood six inch heels on weekends, ran me through marathons, enduring my never-ending physical torment and though they may buckle, with weeping blisters and aching pains, dry skin, broken bones and sprained ankles, they will recover, rebuilding the scabrous skin. Regardless of how unstable my life may become in later years, whether I am stranded on a deserted island, or walking the ***** streets of the city, no room to call my own, my feet will always, undoubtedly, lead me to safety. And when I am old and withered, an exhausted heap of human life, with my last dying breath, I will thank my durable, reliable feet.
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Some days I feel like lost my way just how I feel when I'm down park your feet here get you some athletes foot for why should it always be me that has to catch or experience this irene verruca sat in the wings a very nice girl but her face how do I describe like soggy wet tissue down the loo that somebody has urinated on oow I digress told you so maybe today I should not have got out my bed not in pain just out my mind insanity the only other place to go yet insanity seems good and lay down in a bathroom turn all the taps on and float away to the universe of impossibilities.
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May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 8:02 AM UTC
paul-hardwick
Walk in mt shoes for the day.
Some days I feel like lost my way just how I feel when I'm down park your feet here get you some athletes foot for why should it always be me that has to catch or experience this irene verruca sat in the wings a very nice girl but her face how do I describe like soggy wet tissue down the loo that somebody has urinated on oow I digress told you so maybe today I should not have got out my bed not in pain just out my mind insanity the only other place to go yet insanity seems good and lay down in a bathroom turn all the taps on and float away to the universe of impossibilities.
Continue reading...
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