Black, brown, and navy. Cloth straps. The plastic ones hurt my toes.
From the first warm day of Spring all the way into Fall, those are what can be seen on my feet. They are my favorite shoes. The evidence can be seen in the white stripes that cross one of the few parts of my body that tans.
The soft grass tickles my toes. I am care free.
The sun beating down warms my feet and my heart.
The rain and the puddles make me slide and feel like a child.
When the skies turn gray and the air becomes cool, my flip flops are pushed to the back of the closet. I say farewell as I dig out my boots, buried under shoes I no longer wear but can't bear to part with. My boots, tight on my legs, make me feel safe and secure.
The beige ones glide over my feet and slide up my calves. I turn down the tops to show the world the soft fur. The tan ones hurt when I first put them on. I always forget to wear thinner socks. I rest my foot on the table that holds a tv while I pull the laces tight. I double knot them just to be safe and watch as the balls at the ends of those laces bob when I walk.
My black ones are a newer addition. They are meant for the snow, but are oh so sleek and shiny. I tuck my jeans in and lace them up tight. Are they "in" in the fashion world? I'm not sure, but I like to pretend. I'm one of the cool kids now.
I love all of my shoes in their own special way, but sometimes I'd like to toss them away. When my heart hurts and my temper boils, I wonder what it would be like in someone else's shoes.
Would they make me feel safe and secure, in a new and better way?
Would they give me the courage to say what needs said?
Would they make me feel happy when all I want to do is crawl under the covers and hide?
I am care free, safe, and secure with what I put on my feet. But sometimes I wonder. Are the shoes better from the closet next door?