Little go getter
Getting rhythms in winter
Shimmy down the drain
And find what’s for dinner
Catch up on jazz
And have lunch in silver
Skip ethics class
Smoke Bibles for dinner
Little go getter
Getting discos like sinners
Hands on walls
Cry for wrinkles
Spots on spots
Age is venom
Little go getter
Go get em
My feet are my worst enemy and my best blessing.
In the obvious,
They’re rarely polished, rarely filed
I’ve got some crust around the edge of my big toe and a spot I got from a blister when I walked around 6 flags in a pair of converses too small for me to converse back in the 8th grade (or was it 9th?).
They aren’t pretty and when you pair it with my spotted legs that are rarely shaved it doesn’t make for the creamiest area for the average eye to glide over comfortably in one go.
In the covert,
They’re one of the sly visible expressions of my disposition.
As my soul appetizes, my feet chew.
Upon every insect, every stone, every green hair, every marble my feet chew.
Even under the cotton of my sheets they find sedation.
Or even between the crumbs of bread and dried raisins I am sedated.
Then when they are dressed (in they’re best)
I am delirious.
I am vibrant.
I am exotic.
I am evil.
I am kind.
I am sexy.
I am invincible.
I am winged.
Round and round I can go with abandon.
My feet are best friends with my heart.
They know what it desires in secret.
They know what it dreams to be.
And as best friends do,
they influence the hell out of it.
I decided to have a mini dance session in my room last night while wearing these bad boys. Then I took some pictures out of boredom and because I fell incredibly in love with these super comfy heels. The thing is I ended up actually liking them so much that it caused me to think. So that’s what bred those two poems above.
I bought these heels yesterday from the store I work at. I usually don’t wear heals unless I’m going to an event. The same applies to today. I decided to buy these babies because I’m going to Las Vegas in January for a friend’s birthday celebration. This type of arched heel with a small ankle strap thing is quite in style these days and for once I’m feeling a trend. So I bought them.
The funny thing that I have with heels is that I like how they look but I don’t like how they hurt when wearing them. So I actually have a lot of heels in my closet that I’ve worn once or twice because they helped bring my outfit together. I think I can wear these heels more than twice because they’re so simple that they could go with everything (except for the winter).
But that’s not what this post is suppose to be about.
I’ve just come here to say that what I like more about heels than the fact that they are cute is the fact that I feel cute in them. Whenever I put on heels I feel a million times cooler, sexier, adorable-r, kinder, maturer, crazier, smarter, creative-r and so on. I can get boosts of confidence when wearing makeup or a fly outfit, but for some reason the confidence I get when putting on heels is in a fantasy of its own.
Don’t get me confused, I’m like 85% confident without makeup, a nice outfit, or heels.
However I have scars on my legs and feet that I don’t ever boast about. Then lately I’ve come to the conclusion that it looks like I have wrinkles on my feet, but that’s just me being too observant. I don’t really attend to my feet by like weekly pedicures or things like that. I think the last time I actually stepped inside a nail salon was in March for Spring Break preparations and before then I didn’t step inside one since probably May.
So you see, my feet aren’t my pride and joy.
When wearing heels though it’s like those details are irrelevant.
I suddenly embrace a new character. Well not completely new. I embrace the character that I’ve always imagined myself to be. The me who is bolder and wiser. Who is a head turning icon.
I refuse to call it an alter-ego because that sounds a bit mental to me. Alter-egos sound like someone who is two faced and too confused. And since I’m currently watching Gotham, I’m kind of predisposed to associate people who claim to have alter-egos as psychotic, riddle addicted, co-worker murderers (sorry if that spoiled the show for anyone). Since I don’t fit that description I’d just make it simple and say that when I wear heels I’m more motivated to actually do stuff. Not just any “stuff” but to conquer all my dreams. If only heels didn’t hurt so bad, I’d wear them every day.
Until the fashion industry figures out a way to make heels as comfortable as sneakers then I’ll just stick to wearing heels for those rare events I go to or for my super exclusive, one woman living room disco parties.
Plus I’ll just have to channel all that inner confidence into my sneakers and boots,
get my bum off the bed
go get em.