My Disdain for Shoes

I always trip, I often fall,

I have no time to hang at the mall.

‘What’s the point,’ I ask myself,

Of three feet of shoes piled on a shelf?

My closet seems bare, not one designer thread,

There are five million t-shirts, hanging there instead.

My beautifully outworn high-tops, beginning to tear,

The flip-flops I practically never wear,

The cute shoes for prom-I ended up barefoot instead.

Can’t you just see me in sneakers on the day I am wed?

Brand name shoes, prices high,

Heel stabbed toes wishing to die.

Girls tumbling, girls stumbling, balance falling short,

Complaining that “it hurts!”  Why inflict pain of any sort?

Is it really necessary to choose fashion over comfy soles?

And a handful of new pairs over a few minor holes?