Trigger Warning: Mentioned violence
Small, pale, pink baby shoes
Sitting gently in smokey ruin
On top of the ashes of the crib
The only things left that survived
The great, grand explosion
They used to be vibrant, stiff, and cold
Unwilling to bend with flexibility
That sat atop a high shelf with pride
Displaying rigid standards of beauty others despised
Aloof and indignant toward possibility
They pinched, bit, and scratched in outrage
When forced upon little feet that grew
Making the foreigner kick and scream
The racket, unbearable to a parent's hand
As they swiped them off the monster and saved them
Not long after, however, they were forced again
To be shoved over vulnerable flesh
They bit; it screamed
They were rescued again
But this time, they missed the little monster's warmth
It was the third time when they tentatively relaxed
Hoping to feel the warmth again
The little monster slowed its kicks and cries
And curious hands grabbed at lopsided bows
They had forgotten their imperfection
They were self-conscious in trying to hide their flaw
The Designer made for them
But Little Monster found them again and again
Each tug with uncoordinated fingers
Unraveling the iciness within
A queer bond began to form
When they stopped seeing a flaw, but beauty
The curious creature eroded away superficial simplicity
Leaving them to be worn, pale, pink baby shoes
Frayed with love and sincerity
The Creature smiled, babbled, and laughed
As they tugged and chewed on their thinning bows, leaving slobber in their wake
But they didn't mind
As they vowed to protect their delicate feet
No matter how many times they tripped in learning to walk
They danced in sunlight with their Creature's coos and clumsy twirls
They covered tiny, frozen toes at midnight
Keeping them warm and snug until the break of dawn
When golden light filtered through the window
And gazed upon sleepy eyes
Small, pale, pink baby shoes
Now, only a memory
Wishing to die as they weep in despair
For the ashes of their Creature are there
But memories cannot be destroyed or forgotten
Small, pale, pink baby shoes
With their shredded bows covered in smoldering ash and dust
The explosion, meant to destroy their and their Creature's beauty,
Left behind an empty shell and a memory
Woven in the tattered fabric of They
~Michael
(They, them, their)
2/6/18
