I was so comfort full for you as an old shoe.
You weren’t afraid if I got stolen or ruined.
Didn’t matter if I had on me mud, dust or dew.
You had banged me hard all the time & attuned.
On your own foot there is always my tongue
You had stretched it daily and tied tight with lace.
I felt sophisticated, wet internally, unheard & unsung.
To sing my tragic song where do I go with this face?
I am so deep from inside, on my high hill,
I will carry you correctly if you will fill me in.
I don’t have any shiny polish or to refill
The cranky cracks of my rough and tough skin
I need the touch of love to heal my sole.
I’m still beneath you as a shoe upholding you, is my goal.