Shoes of validation

My shoes are pretty shining of frozen sunsets and liquid snowflakes, like the fake embellished nails attached to my fingers made of sunflower pressed bandaids, sparkling brightly like my smirk of spilled frosty water, that never quite reaches the corners.

Sometimes they sparkle psychedelic hues of rainbow dreams and tinkling confetti and bounce a squeaky noise filled with hushes surprise and stifled cries, when I am humming myself the lullaby that calms my knuckles bleeding misery, and takes me to the wrinkled blanket of home that has creases of desires and stains of my salty tears, to cry sobs of regret into the feathery pillow of assurance that has my dreams and ions sewn into it.

Sometimes they turn crimson like my cheeks that reek of a painful powder product, that makes my skin crawl like the worst horror movie I ever watched and the soft drink I spilled ober myself.

It reminds me of the stares I get, the stares of filthy fist fights and dirty closets, that makes a red creep up at my cheeks like an unknown stranger destined for me due to anger, the same claret that others suppose as blushing of shame, silence and burnt hope and faith, they shine and creak the earthy sepia of oakwoods and cacophonous broken branches; wanting to crawl inside the acceoting mother earth, to avoid having any social interaction that would just heighten my anxiety until I am reduced to a grimy and sweat soaked laundry pile of panic attack and a muse of laughter for others.

My shoes, they get inflated every time someone praises them as if they cracked a million dollar deal, they look like they do when on the inside I am already painted with fear of the disappointment and insults that will follow soon. My shoes love flattery that flips like a coin having two faces, even if it is shallow like my coffee cup that has my doodle of freedom drawn on it, the doodle that looks fader everyday just like my jaded soul waiting like an imprisoned dragon in exile, empty like my mind that chants poems filled with needle shaped metaphors that no one ever understood.

They love to go after people like a battered stray animal, looking for a warm bed of safety and maybe some food and water filled with the sandalwood scent of care, laced by some actual love and not just empty words that slash my skin into a deafening silence of betrayal and hurt, not even a single cerise drop making their presence known to the ground.

My shoes have very clear opinions that are expressed in some of the most imperfectly imperfect ways, that stay locked in the pearl necklace my mother gave me, the locket that bears our family picture, a constant reminder of who I am supposed to be and who I fail to be with every ing day.

They seek so much attention from other people that they forget that they have to take care of themselves too because they are like a child wailing, they are so helpless and such a lost cause that I sometimes feel the tiniest twinge of pity for them.

They would happily walk on nails of criticism and favours that would never be returned, if it meant the wall would give them a little bit of praise, praise that would be empty and if meaningful, then it won't last more than some few fleeting seconds.

They walk along the seashore never feeling the pebbles that penetrate them, they don't really listen to the euphonious song the waves sing, they just keep walking like a corpse freshly risen from its deathbed, with no set determination in mind as if they would magically land in a sandy beach where they would get recognition and be accepted for who they are in reality.

But you know, I thought my shoes were my identity and my ticket to heaven, a mask that was made of posh cashmere but ad become ancient, a mask that was stuck to my feet and could never be taken off.

I thought that if I took them off I would again become a living ghost amidst walking statues of the dead, the appreciative glances would turn into one's filled with pity that I never wanted and disgust that would just ruin my mental health. I thought my feet would be so ugly and filled with scratches and bruises that I would break into sweats screaming nightmares; being the broken record that I am.

Surprisingly, the sand of validation that I finally branded on my body like a holy stamp felt good and soothing like a lover's touch in my darkest hour, it felt like a forehead kiss on a rainy day, a candy that filled the bitterness of my mouth with its sweetness.

When I once thought I would never be able to walk barefoot, I now knew, I would never wear my shoes of shame and self hatred again. There will be days when I'll look at them and get a wistful look in my eyes, there might be days when I even end up nearly wearing them again.

But at those times, I'll walk on this beautiful sand of self acceptance again, and one day I'll throw them into the ocean in front of my eyes that will swallow them like all my painful memories. They were never to my taste anyways.

#prosaicwhisperer

Day 29 — Shoes

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Toodles :sparkles: . Soo, another inktober post? I was not planning on doing this AT ALL. and it already got featured oml :skull: :skull: :skull: :skull:

Anyways, it's y'all amazing people's fault that I ended up writing this. Like honestly why are you all so freaking talented :sob:

INSPIRATION

very talented puppet. Like, I read it and then the imagination just flew and I ended with this.

Another huge inspiration is character of Sam by Knox. Like, I love all of his characters a lot, but I relate to Sam in a very weird way. When I was writing this I had that character in mind, but ofcourse, it is also deeply influenced by my personal experiences. So it's like a combination between what I think Sam feels and what I know I feel.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

So, amazing people. Know that you are the brightest sunshine in the dark sky and you are the most beautiful moon lighting someone's night. You are VALID. You are AMAZING🖤.