My
boots and I stay together like glue,
six eyed
Doc Martens bought in 1992.
We've seen hard times, also some
fun,
together we've accomplished all that can be done.
In 10th grade while
fucking an upperclassman,
these boots on her
sheets, provided more
traction.
Polished shiny at times or caked in
Lollapalooza mud,
covered in
Crash Worship crap and junkie's
blood.
They've helped with
walking and
swimming with
speed,
treaded waters in the
Guadelupe River and the
North Sea.
Conquered
Amsterdam cobblestone while I was tokin,
seen the only girl I've loved and my heart broken.
Watched my
judgement fail, the wrong people I
trusted,
my feet felt great that
night I got busted.
Covered in
vomit on nights I've had too much,
stayed on my left foot while I used a
crutch.
Now on their last days, completely worth the
money I paid,
they might never be used, but never thrown away.
Maybe I should have called this "Ode to my Boots," or maybe I shouldn't have taken the time to write this. But last night the hole in the sole got too big, so I have to retire them. Thanks for the memories boots.