Dear Boots,

You are strapped in and strapped on, holding tight to the teathered ground you thought you left behind. Oh you thought they were made for walking but like prey, that hawk is stalking.

Boots you know what to do in the dust of the wind and you’ve also had the taste of strutting the line at the base of the river that runs deep. Climbing and climbing not knowing this mountain was so steep, when will you finally reach its peak?

Boots you are not worn down, you are not warped like the soil lands you have found. You were made to run, to dance and take a stance because you smell of new leather, you just haven’t allowed the right home where you “have to break them in.”

Break them curses, break them rules, break that damn ruins that put dirt on your steel toe boots. Break them in all right, break down barriers and Boots I’m telling you, put up that fight.

Make yourself shiny and new. Find that place that makes you feel abundantly clean and renewed. Boots love yourself the way you love the paths you walk because you are undeniably a Rios of Mercedes that can’t be found like a boot that makes themselves available on every block.