souls of my shoes

Magic carpets, old friends, badges of honor or a like a tattoo that you can take off. Scarred by untold hours of my own insecurities. I remember staring down at these shoes when my husband lied to me on the phone and I knew it but didn't like to say. On a better day, one of these shoes was a weapon, I was in a rage and used it like 6omph fast ball.

Like when you forgive someone that you just love- I always forgot all about the gaping hole in the sole of the right foot. Without fail, I'd step in wet grass or dog's piss, or a "spilt milk" and have to walk around with a wet sock all night. There is a fleck of paint in every color for every searing thought I had to endure to get to quiet "beauty" or do a heartfelt thing. The laces are too long, even though I cut them back at least twice. They got dragged in shellac on day because I like to paint on the floor. I stepped in my dish of shellac on purpose thinking it would plug the gaping hole, but it only made the edges sharp and crunchy, sometimes making me think I'd stepped on a cockroach. Sometimes I put the shoes on, but I couldn't find my talent, but the shoes made me feel like an artist anyway. Iusted of a fraud. These shoes reminded me of my street red. They're more real than real. These shoes are my history. The red stripes are indian war paint to me. Adidas likes to call them "superstars" Map to my inner artistry. My history.

#addidas #souls