These worn-out boots have walked a million miles.

Treads, once crisp and clear,

have been eroded

smoothed down to nearly nothing.

The leather that once glinted in the sun

Is dull

nicked and scratched,

tarnished in spots with mud that won’t wash off.

The laces have frayed

worn from endless tying and untying.

Metal zippers and eyelets that once gleamed

have lost their luster

tired from their battle with the world.

My poor boots are falling apart.

Those words leave my lips every time I wear them.

It isn’t a lie.

The soles have begun to separate from the shoe

tearing from their bonds at the heel and toe.

Five times they have gone through surgery.

A dab of glue here and there.

With the gentle flick of a wrist,

a marker restores the tired leather

to its former glory.

Get a new pair.

I hear that a lot, too.

Can’t afford it.

It isn’t a lie.

But is it the truth?

This strong pair of boots

has yet to fail me.

Every step I take

surrounds me in comfort.

I feel invincible



Able to take on the world with one hand tied behind my back.

My worn out boots are tired and broken.

But they are mine.

They embody everything I am

everything I’ve been through

and every place I have yet to go.

My worn out boots and I are tired and broken.

But we have a million miles yet to walk.

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