Ode to a Neglected New Shoe

You are....

Proud, elegant, statuesque
Designed with me in mind
Unspoilt
Your spike heel gives the illusion of exquisite fragility
But it is unassumingly strong
Powerful, lifting me up
Empowering me with height

Cushioned for comfort
Intimidating appearance disguising soothing snugness
Sling back, strapping me in for a safe journey
Solid base, effortless stability
Your steep arch reflecting the curve of a woman's back
All black matt but still shining
Silver studs reflecting light with a ferocious glare
Demanding attention and daring any other shoe to match your sass

You upgrade wardrobes
No everyday shoe
Not suitable for the daily battles with the pavement
You require a stage
You provide your own platform
Wearing you is a performance
The fierce warrior stance you provide makes you the essential element of my impenetrable style armour

Strutting in you is like issuing a challenge
You tranform me into an amazonian
A gladiator
A dominatrix
Forget ruby slippers
When I slip my feet into you I can conquer and seize any place as my home

But for all your glamour and enchantment
Regardless of how enamoured I am
Despite my deep desire to flaunt you to the world
You remain entombed in your box
Imprisoned in darkness
Unworn and unable to fulfill your life's purpose

Occasionally I tenderly unwrap you from the beige tissue paper that enshrines you
Holding you up with admiration, drifting my fingers across your deliciously soft skin
I carefully place my feet in your firm grip
And sashay down the hallway

But when time arrives too soon as always
My schedule requires me to adorn warm, flat bottomed boots
Or common place, brightly decorated but mundanely gripped kicks
The world I must enter on a daily basis has no place for a warrior heel
Too many cracks and gaps to skip over

Fancy footwear is a luxury that hard work does not understand
Sexy shoes won't pay my bills
(In my profession of choice at least)
I'm fighting the good fight, hustling real hard
My inner glamour girl must give way to humility
I cannot allow myself to stand aloof, lifted on spikes above the dirt ground
I must be dirtied, and plough through to sew seeds and reap harvests

And so
I'm afraid
My poor neglected shoe
Mama
Just ain't
Had time for you....

Rocky roads....

I have always been my own rock
Not polished, or statuesque, not glimmering with precious stones or metallic residue
But steadfast and enduring and solid

I have braved waves of emotion, constant battering from angry vicious winds
I have born the weight of others
I have suffered the hacking and picking and steady accumulation of fear, of doubt, of despair
I have maintained my structure and integrity through avalanches

My own character has been chiselled from this rock
Morals moulded, opinions hammered
I have scratched my direction and continually sanded away at my flaws

But this rock is crumbling

Slowly, certainly, falling apart
Leaving the steel rod that forms my backbone exposed and vulnerable
The bright, strong, gleaming iron is gradually rusting
The everyday oxidation and toxication of life is corroding it's power
Jeopardising my ability to stand tall and keep my head up

This structure has withstood wobbles and tremors and shakes
But never before has it been this close to utter collapse
I have manifested and perfected this rock for so long
It has become more than a strength of character or a coping mechanism
It has become my definition

So now...
I need a new rock

Brighton rock with my name written through your core
Sweet and jaw breakingly solid
A rock of ages to see me through all stages and phases and put up with my incessent bullshit

Caringly carved from solid marble, practically perfect
Smooth, secure, my stronghold
Broad shoulders, firm grip, grounded feet, unshakeable

More than a pebble, I need you to be my unpenetrable mountain
My fortress without the associated solitude, just me and you
Your gravelly voice reducing the attacks of the world to rubble

My beautiful gargoyle, unchanging and undefeatable
The cornerstone and foundation of my world
That's not much for a girl to ask for...is it?

And in return?

I will be every metaphor, analogy, emblem, similie and cliche you could ever need

I'll be your partner in crime, your eternal flame , your comforter, your best friend
Your commrade in arms, your provider, your night nurse, the light at the end of all your tunnels
I'll be your muse, the mother of your seed and of your inspiration, your die hard fan
Your homegirl, your secret little freak, your breath of fresh air, your band aid

I'll be all the cake your hidden fat kid could ever need, your favourite pair of jeans and your darkest fantasy
I'll be the rhythm your heart beats to, the song your soul sings, your great escape

And when you've helped rebuild me
I'll be your rock too

Attached by Strings

I heard someone say 'Even the finest instruments are mute without strings'
And I thought...
'What about wind instruments'?
They are just full of holes.

But when I connected with you, I was left feeling mute
Said you liked my physical properties
The way I had been crafted, designed with music in mind
Rhythmical, more than ornamental, moving to my own beat

The build up was lengthy, innocent and proper
Interaction started as professional, became friendly then flirty and full of promise
Vocal and textual harmonies were made
You liked the sound of my voice, I liked what you felt inspired to say


Pictures of potential were a slideshow in my mind
Replays of our conversation providing the soundtrack
And when promises were fulfilled and you professed a desire to be my accompaniment
A decision was made not to overthink, just follow the music and go with the flow

And the flow took us to a place where innocence could no longer follow
Neither could sense or reason...just feeling
I lost my words and found my scream
The whole world was humming at the same pitch


The song was enduring but could not be endless
There was no sheet music to guide what happened next
This was a genre and style who's technique I had yet to learn
I rediscovered my words, but could not find their meaning

I let you play me, no strings attached......
Even the finest instruments are mute without strings

15 Lines of Frustration

Words
On the page
Written to persuade
My mind to release
It's creative rage

Genuine prose eludes me
Currently
I have the option of
'Prentension' or 'Whimsy'
Neither of which suit me

So for now
I bow down
To the cat that's got my tongue
But I vow
That this silence will be temporary