Take My Shoe

A fresh heavy towel, drooped over my weightless shoulders, a cotton-like shawl, as my two ever-so-slim legs merrily skipped the sidewalk cracks that were roasting beneath the sun.

The diluted chlorine, detectable from a far distance away, was our glowing road sign to heaven; to a location we could splash and rejoice about the simplicities that our worry-free youth unknowingly had to offer.

No greedy, green, money-driven fist existed to charge us forced entry at the door. In fact, regular pleasures were nearly free and quite easy to obtain in this era before.

Our providers possessed more spare time to adequately contribute to the wellbeing of their homes. They had also acquired a more useful level of know-it-all-to-get-through-life knowledge. A town symbol patch was therefore easily sown onto the fold of our trunks; guaranteeing our unlimited access to a day filled with fun.

On one occasion, this woman, with lengthy sun-bleached hair and red croc-looking sandals, took my hand-me-down shoe hostage because my newly purchased white/black polka-dotted suit was patchless.

We soaked in the water till our skin was transformed into grapish-like flesh and new freckles covered the burnt tips of our nose. We then quickly rested our relaxed bodies on cement to dry before the place had to close.

Each shoe found its patchless suit owner, and walked our feet home, as the chain locked the fence and the sunset beamed down; engulfing the enormously loud bell of the church into the shadows around.

Every summer it seemed as though days passed like years. The towel it shrunk into an invisible facecloth, which I struggled to tie into a robe around my later awkwardly-underdeveloped womanly waist.

The fence, once so tall, now sneakily transformed into a cage, and life locked me up with its chains to wither of old age.

The lava-like cracks have now turned into gutters and they only take hostage my paycheck like others. In this hell, I cannot simply ransom a shoe, and they kidnapped my towel I sadly outgrew.

Not Stopping!

If only you would witness the depth of my unconditional love for you.

The shirt on my worn-out back, I would toss it away, and my very last breath would be yours so you stay.

I will push through, to move things for you, and I will hold on till your troubles are gone. With my strength and determination today, I will heal your tomorrow.

There is no stopping me!

Calm the F Down

Everybody visibly appears so immensely occupied; constantly places to go, but no people to see.

Like hummingbirds, chasing sweet nectar before the cold starts settling in, they frantically fly past one another; unable to pause for more than a split second.

I watched their display, in silence today, as depressive thoughts continuously cluttered my head. Unable to budge from the weak in my legs, I stared in disbelief as they flew and they fed.

The lights turned, from the green to the red, on repeat, and the crossers just marched; maintaining the flow of the street. No pause for a wave, not a smile or “hi”, as they dashed through their day; with time passing on by.

The brightness of the day rises, the dark of the night grows thick, and the chaos of morning commences once the kettle goes “click”.

No time for a moment, to visit a friend, because life makes us run down a road with no end.

My “me time” this morning, it shed so much light, on the next time I feed and I flee to take flight. The next time my feet they must run around town, I’ll remember this vision and calm the f*ck down..

Vroom Vroom!

We are only conditioned beings if we refuse to recondition ourselves.

We are not victims of our yesterday! We were not born strapped in a stray jacket!

We have so-called set values and a pre-determined belief system; true. However, we are also individuals entitled to withdraw from our path and trace our own course. Nobody detains ultimate power over us to program our every move. Our identity is not defined by a nest or a crest!

We were not meant to position ourselves in the back seat of a tiny engine that could not. We were given life to successfully live it to its fullest. We therefore possess the sole responsibility of directing our own wheels and selecting the road we wish to take.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with straying from our people to become our own person!

Slithering Snake

Your venom slithered its way to my lips; constricting my life. I unraveled my beauty, you strengthened your bite.

Your scales scratched at my skin and they shredded my soul. I walked in for the kiss, but you swallowed me whole.

Your toxicity drips and it poisons my tea; as I wiggle away and attempt to break free.

From your grip to your glare and your glance to your stare; I am trying to breathe, but you’re cutting my air!

Your layers will fall and your heart will reveal that your hate was the truth and my love it was real.

Write Right

I will write till I run out of ink, jotting down every thought that I think. An idea in mind, is not hard to find, when you start off your book with a drink.

I will rythme all my words like a song, then rewrite all the lines that sound wrong. My pen drops to the beat, as it falls to my feet, on the floor where it doesn’t belong.

I will vomit my words from my tongue, on the paper to show everyone. You’ll delightfully read, all these pieces of me, that I mend and I bend for good fun.

Give Back

If you haven’t had buckets collecting the rain, or a flat empty stomach starving in pain, you know not the struggle it takes to stay sane. When your fridge it is full, and your pocket is packed, lend a hand out to others to try and give back. Instead you count dimes and your nickles, with greed, while mothers go home to three babies to feed. As you walk everyday, with a new pair of shoes, others tied up their soles with some strong sturdy glue. The heels on your feet hurt not even one bit, compared to a screw and a shoe that don’t fit. Your bags that you carry don’t come from the church, and the clothes they contain don’t smell “man in the earth”. You drive in a car, others walk in the rain, yet the price of the gas always makes you complain. The luck that you have isn’t granted to all, and don’t think that you’re big and that them they are small. These people, from dealing with troubles they’re in, have the biggest of hearts and the lowest of chins.

Hurry Home

Cleanse your soul from the bite, rid your heart from the sting, your mind from the blackness inside you.

Release all the fear and the anger that steered as it ditched me alone here without you.

As you hang for dear life, the walls caving at night, know that I dream of being there for you.

Once yourself becomes found and you’ve turned this around, hurry home so that I can be with you.

Crystal Power

Those with faith into crystals walked a well-beaten path, they’ve been through some troubles that others can’t grasp. A rock in your pocket, or hung to your neck, is not magic; it’s simply result of placebo effect.

You believe it can heal, bring you love and protect, and with not much hope, it is all you have left. Whether you choose to hold on to a rock, stone, or turd, the importance of healing is far from absurd.

From awareness lazuli to citrine for luck, carry each one around if they make you unstuck. If the power within regenerates you, stick them into your pocket, or tucked in your shoes.

Spring Portrait

I can hear the ever so frigidly cold river, trickling in the near distance, as the lumps are released from the strength of the sun beaming down firmly on its stone-like chunks.

I can feel an unimaginable sense of pure, meaningful joy, as I witness recently dormant forms of life regaining possession within my core and throughout the magnificent environment that gratefully surrounds my soul.

I can see its melody, spreading its roots to the tips of the trees and the grass underneath the fallen snow that desperately remains and willingly refuses to go.

I can catch the birds hearing the song, which declares the switch of season, along with me, as they dance to its beat, hot-stepping through the trees.

I can laugh at the bug, as it awkwardly wobbles its wings past my steaming coffee; seeming entirely out of place and completely confused by the drastic change of weather around me.

I can chase away the bland colours that clouded the sky, and forced me to look down in dismay, as they suddenly transform into the shades of the wax we would pick from the box at an earlier stage.

I can compare eternal winter days to having no sharpener in sight and craving to scribble with the pretty colours that have lost the points of their lead. I must rather select from the multitude of neutral boredom instead.

I can enjoy now the smell of the giving green and the beautiful blue, and the odour of earth reconnects with me too. The black it all flickers from heat up above like a somber-type red that is wrapped up in love.

I can feel the impression that children rejoice, as the laughter escapes from their big tiny voice. A smile appears on my pale, freckled face, as their youth redirects me to a much younger place.

I can hope that the current of spring it is here, and I’ll sip from my cup as it floods through my ears.

Back in the day

Goods were shipped out in barrels, as gifts from the queen, nothing reached land prepackaged and ready to eat. The contents were flour and some contained rice; from a split open orange you got just a slice.

There wasn’t this place food was sold on a shelf; where selection was made by no more than yourself. You harvested food and preserved it in salt, and the meat it lay flat, on a plank, in the dark.

The toilet a hole in a hut out behind; pray to not get an urge in the middle of night. With no running water, while needing to bathe, you scrubbed with a yarn cloth your mother had made.

The water it flowed from the creek in the woods; had to carry the bucket the best way you could. After finally arriving at home, or your shack, a few drops to drink meant you had to go back.

All drank from the pail, with a ladle they shared, which was not often washed but none of them cared. A sickness was cured, with herbs and some rest, for there was no existence of products and meds.

The mothers gave birth in the comfort of home, and the babies who died they were buried alone. The doctor and nurse lived hours away, and to see them you walked for most of the day.

The fathers they left, to sign up for war, and were granted a parcel of land off the shore. A few were released, in bad and bent shape, and others were sent to an easier place.

They didn’t have then all the things we have now, and to get something done you figured out how. Now we whine and complain about all we don’t own, but back then they had nothing unless it was grown.

Our Past Year

We watched other countries as they covered their face, and thought that the virus would not reach this place.

It spread through the world like a viral Tik Tok, and crowded the beds in the hospital blocks.

It crawled through the homes of the elderly near, and as cases they climbed we were worried with fear.

We stocked up on TP and made a quick dash, through the frozen food section to spend all our cash.

We ran out of masks, had no more purell, the bread and the rice they were gone from the shelves.

We scrubbed all our cans, disinfected our hands, from then on apart we all had to stand.

The places not needed were forced to be closed, some went out of business, too broke I suppose.

The government said not allowed out past eight. Our loved ones who missed us they just had to wait.

The streets were all empty, not a soul left in sight, as people took cover at home through the night.

The gatherings stopped, the sports had to end, could not have a beer outside with a friend.

The sirens and lights from the cars and the trucks encouraged the staff for their work that did suck.

The testing began with a swab up your nose the minute a symptom appeared that is known.

Then on the shelf was the first vaccine, and others came out for results to be seen.

Some places reopened and life it came back, but the virus grows stronger as days seem to pass.

An Ocean Away

From a country of strength, they sailed to the shore, with little in hand and their babies on board.

They left things behind, could not carry much more. The ship it was grand, but the ocean it roared.

The waves as they crashed, they all fell to the floor. They grabbed on to things through the storm as it poured.

The buckets set out, for the sick and the sore. The folks with a fever were tossed without oars.

The strong made their way to this maple land, poor. They were left in a field where they worked to their core.

With nothing attached to their home before, they picked themselves up and began to soar.

When I look at my life, through an open door, I see what they did, who they did it for.

Thanks To Them

They made you and then gave you life. Too poor to be husband and wife. They did all they could, and boy they did good, thanks to them you turned out quite alright .

Thanks to them there’s a roof on your head. In the night you can sleep in a bed. When you have a bad dream, you wake up and scream, they tell you a story instead.

They seem like they’re always so strong. Like nothing in life could go wrong. Not a worry in sight, the both of them fight, for a world where you feel you belong.

Their bodies they keep getting old. It is all part of life you were told. They are weak in the knees, and everyone sees, there is not much more time left to go.

One day they will lay down to rest. At that time you will know you were blessed. To have been by their side, till the day that they died, to have been loved by them nonetheless.


Who cares if you are LGBT or Q, at the end of the day you are still the same you. It does not change the person you are from inside, hold up your head, don’t feel you must hide. Wear what you want, in the colours you choose, cuz the clothes on your body does not define you. You are perfect, in every sense of the word, your voice it is loud, it deserves to be heard. Be who you are, not who they tell you to be, scream from your lungs “it’s okay to be me!” The outer appearance is just like a box, your life is not based on the length of your locks. You still love the things you have loved all along, whoever considers you different is wrong. The closet’s a place where you store away shoes, it is not where you sit and refuse to be you. Break down the door and strut your way out, because being unique is what life is about. Dress as you wish, your body is yours, who cares if your partner’s a boy or a girl? As long as it’s love and you love them right back, the rest of the world needs to cut you some slack. Hold on to their hand, take a walk through the park, the love that you share should not stay in the dark. It’s okay to be you, live the life that you choose, feel good in your skin and walk proud in your shoes.

Take the house!

The sweat in your palms and continuous thoughts are the only results from control you have lost. You can’t beat your house, from blowing away, no matter how hard you stand in wind’s way. Thinking of all before shutting your eyes can only amount to torturous times. You toss and you turn, your mind fully awake, as you think of mistakes you worry to make. Teach your mind to just let it go; the end is far from yours to control. The worry consumes all of your head; turn off the switch and be open instead. Things land in their place, and out of place too, let them fall on the surface these things were meant to. Tomorrow will bring what it truly must should, and the worry created won’t serve any good. Let the breeze take the walls, and all else that it wants, for most things are things that you don’t need to count. You relentlessly worry to try and control all these things still destined to take place and unfold. Foolish are fools who think they can change the outcome of things that are out of their range. If the house blows away, simply wave it goodbye, lay down in the grass and have a good cry. Perhaps the wind will not blow it away, and you worried for nothing; life chose it would stay. You can huff, you can puff, but you won’t knock me down if my feet are cemently tied down to the ground.