Brooklyn’s ‘In Your Shoes’ poem. Written as a result of a favourite shoe storming session.

In your shoes.

At 3

I giggled and bounced about

In shoes of jelly.

I ran in an egg and spoon race

then ate the egg in celebration of my winning.

At 7

I felt as fake as my Timberland boots

Knowing that they could see through

my lies of owning

a big white mansion

With diamonds on the walls

And dalmations in the garden.

At 9

I walked through sad rain

with Winnie the Pooh wellies on.

Suffering in pain

depressed as Eeyore.

The rain hid my tears

as I squelched away from home.

At 11

Ill in Alder Hey

In a ward filled

With anorexic teenagers

I hobbled to the loo

past beds of ghost girls

with my cow slippers ‘mooing’

all the way there.

I longed to disappear

just like the girls.

At 12

I felt cosy in big fat pasties

Walked the cold streets of Tuebrock

With my mates.

Talked about fit lads

Snug in my Uggs.

At 13

Wild and wreckless

In gold wedges

I stumble into town

Dance like a maniac

Meet my first lust.

At 14

Feeling brave

Grown out of my wedges

I confidently step

Into high heels

Strut into the world of woman.

When I am 70

I will wear retirement shoes;

Still dancing like a maniac

Still walking through the rain.

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