These Boots Are Made For Walking

Trying to learn the skills of creative writing sometimes means undertaking exercises that seem entirely bonkers. Below is my attempt at writing a poem in the voice of an inanimate object. 


These boots are made for walking


You ram yourself inside me,
dead weight upon my sole,
leather stretched by bones and flesh.
Hard nails against my toes.


I feel you yank my laces
Tie them, tight, across my tongue.
Knotted bows to hold me,
trapped until undone.


My skin is cracked, unpolished,
worn out by rain and sleet.
Broken down by years, and miles
of service at your feet.


But as we move together,
with your light-stepped rhythmic pace,
I feel your warmth spread through me.
I am moulded by your grace.