You’ve been courting me for years
with promises of stability and comfort. I rejected you
of losing my wild identity, growing older,
losing the respect of my peers
I just couldn’t bring myself to seek solace in you.
But oh, ballet flats. I was a fool.
I didn’t need heels to be my tool, to make me thinner or to make me a winner,
you let me be me
you get me where I need to be
without pain or strain or a drain on my wallet
you let me explore my own fashion palette and march to my own beat.
Once I accepted you into my life
I haven’t missed the struggle and strife
of wasting time, reason and rhyme, with crippling myself.
Sure, I may flirt from time to time with an Amazonian heel
because I sometimes like the way they make me feel
and chime with wedding bells in the background
or a party where I want to astound people because it’s a special occasion.
You are beautiful, my ballet flats.
People may find you boring, not worth exploring
because you don’t scream for attention or get a mention in the fashion pages of Vogue.
Who cares? I don’t.
You made me realize that those opinions are all just noise and I don’t need to gain power and poise from a shoe.
You’re just you and you let me be me
and if society has an issue,
because it thinks a heel makes you better at a job or make you look more hot
then lets just stay together and show the world what we’ve got.