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A Mile in Their Shoes
They crawled out of their nests,
swaddled in tissue paper,
The faint scent of cardboard haunted the air.
Their color and stitching came accompanied by praise,
spoken by those unknown to me.
Laces double knotted and tied too tight.
Holding On.
Now the rubber starts to peel,
and the tongue slips out of place.
The stars dirty and fade, shedding their last beams of light.
And the shoe doesn’t fit,
the fabric leaves blisters and scars my ankle.
Laces double knotted and tied too tight.
Holding On.
The tag says All-Star,
but who am I?
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This piece was inspired by a pair on American Flag print converse I owned. They recieved many out of the ordinary compliments from people I hadn't talked to in years and I started pondering the question of the whole stigma surrounding them. Everywhere I looked I saw muddy pairs of converse strolling down the halls in packs, almost like prides of lions. I started questioning my motives; "Why did I even purchase them?" I asked myself. Then there was the bigger picture -conformity- of which I had fallen victim to. The shoes weren't mine, they were theirs, and I just felt like I was desperately holding on.