Wooden Shoes

they sit by the door  

polished and proud  

like relics from another time  

two wooden hearts  

aching to belong  

when i slide them on  

they carry me  

as if i have roots  

carved into the floorboards  

but they shout my steps  

announce my presence  

in a language too loud  

for walls meant to hold  

quiet whispers  

i try to tiptoe  

try to silence  

the clatter of existence  

but they do not know  

how to be soft  

so i leave them there  

a reminder  

that even beauty  

can bruise the air around it