In My Shoes

Here, take them, have a walk
in my shoes. A mile (or ten)
I have a beach with waves
to wash over my tired toes.

Here, take them, have a time!
My shoes know the paths
to wonder, hope, despair,
frustration and pain.

Here, take them, these things.
They won’t feel good, worn
to fit the shape of my feet,
the shape of my walk (life).

What? You don’t want them?
Then stay in your own shoes.
And stop telling me how
to walk in mine.

Do you ever with you could just have someone listen, and be there, without trying to tell you how to walk your mile, your ten, your valley or mountain?

I hear you. Next time tell them they should, but they won’t like it. They never do. After all isn’t the walk they want, it is the control over you.

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