Worn Steps

Soles peeling, edges frayed,

they waited by the door,

scuffed and stained by miles of chaos.

They carried me over cracked sidewalks,

through rain and late-night calls,

across the city's aching pulse.

Inside, the fabric flattened,

stained with hurried breaths,

a record of everything I didn't say,

a map of every step I had to take.

These shoes held stories

I wasn't ready to tell,

but now they speak

in quiet creaks and broken threads.