My Shoes

A little back story for this poem. I wrote it one day while I was looking for inspiration to describe my life. I had recently bought a new pair of purple Converse  high tops. Sitting next to them was my pair of basketball shoes that I keep for Church Basketball. I noticed the stark contrast between them. How used one pair was, and how new and literally squeaky clean the other one was. Then I thought about myself, and all my struggles that I have gone through. Thus, this poem was born! Enjoy!

My Shoes

 My shoes tell stories
Stories about me.
About who I am
And who I want to be.

Most of my shoes
Are not quite whole.
Just like myself,
Without a soul.

Some shoes are new,
Like experiences I've had.
Not all of them good,
But not all of them bad.

All of my shoes
Are pretty dirty.
Like my mind
Not so holy.

 I walk in my shoes
Most every day.
They go with me everywhere,
In every way.

Like myself,
They're wearing down.
There is so much
That I have done.

They travel with me
Far and near
And represent
All I hold dear.

My shoes tell my story.
They show what I am like.
Every little detail
Of my life long hike.

Poetry Girl

Just a little bit about me.

I suffer from depression. I have no vent to deal with the emotions that I feel. However, I have found that the written word helps to let out what I am feeling. So I turned to writing poetry, instead of harming myself physically. 

This blog is to not only share my talent, and my love of writing, but to show what the power of words can do to and for a person. 

I hope that somewhere, an answer can be found for you. I hope that with my words, I can turn something bad, into something maybe not better, but something that isn't so rough.

Poetry Girl

A solitary tear

Fell from her eye

And landed on her hand

So cold, so dry.

She blinked it away

Not wanting to show

The depth of her feeling

Of how far she would go.

Pursing her lips

She grabs for a pen

The poetry girl

Is at it again.

She writes with ink

As red as blood.

Like hers it flows

Faster than it should.

Writing with incredible speed

She lets her emotions go.

And doesn’t stop for anything

Doesn't stop the flow.

Once she's done writing, 

She hangs her head.

She's exhausted, drawn,

And ready for bed.