Softspots by Eric Sparks

I've walked so many long miles in these shoes that I've become them,
or rather, they've become me. When I look down,
myself is all I see; they've spent so much time on my feet that by now,
they only remind me of the ways things were supposed to be. They've
seen everything I've seen, until now from Halloween; they helped me
jump and watched me fall and everything in between.

The shoes are ripped around the edges and they'll stay that way forever;
but the soles are soft and springy and they've never felt better.
We all make mistakes, so my shoes are stained with paint
and the remains of a jello shot that my fellows dropped on my feet.

No matter what stains I make or falls I take, the shoes will watch me through;
they certainly have holes, but they have more soul than any average brute.
They ache from kicks, leaps and runs; they always cry in the rain;
the downpour never stops; the shoes step over the drain.