They Carry Me

My feet, the curious wanderers that balance my body.
My clumsiness sometimes overbearing, but they try their best to
Drive me through my every destination, every hurried scuff against the ground when I realize
I am running late.
They grow calloused from the hurry, from the abrasive ankle socks that I've far outgrown.
They shake under me, from the dance my body became unaccustomed to. They let me know this, to my dismay, that dance is not a part of me anymore.
They get blisters from the dumb dares; I foolishly agree to
Stand on the scorching pavement, who waits patiently for its next victim. They fly up and down in avoidance until no longer can they handle the
heat. So they rush to the cool grass, their sanctuary.
They wear chipped nail polish in colors I decide I don't really like anymore. Proudly, until the chlorine gets to them.
They demand new shoes every year, as they drag the old ones thin.
Sometimes they tire, making simple tasks laborious endeavors I wish to avoid. But other times
They go unnoticed.

Until I press the soles together. Feel each unique blueprint, blistered and worn, meet its match.