My Devilish Prada’

Every time I move around,

You hold my feet to the ground,

I bought you from the fucking store,

I always needed shoes, some more.

You almost pulled me through the window glass,

The feeling was greater than frass,

And then I walked with you the first time,

I was arrogant but I felt a grime.

It poked me here,

It pinched me there,

And then I felt my ankle clamped,

I pushed you away with all my might,

But the more I did, you cuffed me tight,

Who would believe my stilettos are haunted,

They would term me mad, I daunted,

And now I am a prisoner worse than jailed,

Shoes to my feet are almost nailed,

They think I am mad, when I beg you for mercy,

Some laugh at me and suggest I get a matching jersey.

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4 thoughts on “My Devilish Prada’

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