This poem only available on Stories Space. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen.
Tired old mud-splattered
Well-worn boot.
Nobody's Number One,
They don't give a hoot.
Dull ugly colours, somewhat ragged,
Got some holes.
Dirt-stiff ancient laces
Holding on to worn-down soles.
Glitter-pretty princess shoe,
Shining golden heel;
This is party girl's first choice,
Like royalty, she'll feel.
Shining sequins scattered
Upon a golden satin;
Silken inner lining,
A shoe feet don't feel fat in.
Stupid old ugly boot,
Dependable and solid;
Fusty musty mouldy boot,
All stinky tough and stolid.
Gorgeous sparkling party shoe,
All twinkly lovely dancey;
Disco-shining pretty shoe,
All airy-fairy prancey.
Choose a shoe to fit your foot,
A shoe that you prefer;
What does your foot need, reader dear?
To which will you refer?
Are you wanting old but comfy
Boots that you can walk in?
Would you rather glitter feet
To dance and sexy-stalk in?
If looks do matter, then dance away,
And live your life all shiny.
The party shoes are what you need,
Gold sequins all so tiny.
But if you need dependable,
Then choose the working boots;
They'll let you walk and work the earth
And get down to the roots.
Dear reader, choose the ones you want,
All shiny nice or dirty;
Supportive, strong, or flimsy thin,
Dependable or flirty?
For what is gorgeous on the outside
Isn't always strong within;
Sometimes we need the ugly workers
To love and hold our tired feet in.
There's nothing wrong with pretty shoes,
I wish I was a pair,
But Fate has slapped me down, the bitch:
I'm ugly boots, it's fair.
But if wishing clothed me all in glitter,
And made me gorgeous outside too,
Perhaps you'd love me just as I am;
Perhaps I would be right for you.
Alas, it seems, I'm just old boots,
And gleaming shoes are just a dream.
I'll walk the land and work the earth,
It's all I'm good for, it would seem.
So, in my head, I'm golden gorgeous,
Beauty dancing night away;
But in reality, ugly, muddy,
Only always everyday.
This poem only available on Stories Space. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen.
Tired old mud-splattered
Well-worn boot.
Nobody's Number One,
They don't give a hoot.
Dull ugly colours, somewhat ragged,
Got some holes.
Dirt-stiff ancient laces
Holding on to worn-down soles.
Glitter-pretty princess shoe,
Shining golden heel;
This is party girl's first choice,
Like royalty, she'll feel.
Shining sequins scattered
Upon a golden satin;
Silken inner lining,
A shoe feet don't feel fat in.
Stupid old ugly boot,
Dependable and solid;
Fusty musty mouldy boot,
All stinky tough and stolid.
Gorgeous sparkling party shoe,
All twinkly lovely dancey;
Disco-shining pretty shoe,
All airy-fairy prancey.
Choose a shoe to fit your foot,
A shoe that you prefer;
What does your foot need, reader dear?
To which will you refer?
Are you wanting old but comfy
Boots that you can walk in?
Would you rather glitter feet
To dance and sexy-stalk in?
If looks do matter, then dance away,
And live your life all shiny.
The party shoes are what you need,
Gold sequins all so tiny.
But if you need dependable,
Then choose the working boots;
They'll let you walk and work the earth
And get down to the roots.
Dear reader, choose the ones you want,
All shiny nice or dirty;
Supportive, strong, or flimsy thin,
Dependable or flirty?
For what is gorgeous on the outside
Isn't always strong within;
Sometimes we need the ugly workers
To love and hold our tired feet in.
There's nothing wrong with pretty shoes,
I wish I was a pair,
But Fate has slapped me down, the bitch:
I'm ugly boots, it's fair.
But if wishing clothed me all in glitter,
And made me gorgeous outside too,
Perhaps you'd love me just as I am;
Perhaps I would be right for you.
Alas, it seems, I'm just old boots,
And gleaming shoes are just a dream.
I'll walk the land and work the earth,
It's all I'm good for, it would seem.
So, in my head, I'm golden gorgeous,
Beauty dancing night away;
But in reality, ugly, muddy,
Only always everyday.
This poem only available on Stories Space. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen.
