Your Feet

Your feet
are beautiful;
painted a deep
ominous black,
shading your
worries with
each stroke
of the brush.
Deep arches 
deepen
when clear-colored,
and your instep
comes out
as the black withers
away into
the nothing.
Each stroke
of the black
polish
on your nails
bring you back
to forgetting your
past fretting.
But I'm here
now.
Your feet
walked up
to me, and
your past
fretting
is now
gone.
I'm here
because of
your feet;
let me
remove the
black hole of
your worries, and
let me
love you
like you 
deserve
to be loved.
No more ominous
black,
and the arches
and instep wither
away its fretting
into the nothing
because now,
I'm here.

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741