The only way you can walk in my shoes,
Is when I am finished wearing them.
And to you they are donated.
To then retrace the steps where I have been.
And even then the wearing of them would not fit.
Since what they have been through,
You wouldn't be able to tolerate it.
How do I know this?
You see them as just shoes.
But I used them as tools.
And sometimes as weapons.
And that you can not do.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem