Day 2: Split Soles

My dad kept tools in an ammo box from 'Nam

That smelled like rust and decade-old sweat

So he had duct-tape ready for my cleats

Coming apart minutes before the match,

Splitting right under my shin-guards and size-4 feet

Sat me on the curb and took a knee,

Grabbed my foot like I was Cinderella on spikes,

Tied me in electrical tape until my foot was numb.

Thumped my little leg to say "Let's go,"

And the spikes split through the adhesive as I stood up.

I was his makeshift princess

Ready to play, ready to knock some teeth out

Hadn't learned about shame yet,

Or that other kids had new things

But nothing feels sturdier than quick and dirty

Faith you can't buy

Some things never change; busted shoes,

The feeling that anything's good enough.

His old toolbox sits in the back of my car,

Nothing's never been proper about me

Mystery bruises, filthy shoes, gappy teeth

Riding till the wheels fall off