High Heels

Ask a woman how she feels
When she’s struttin’ in high heels.
She may answer, “I feel power!
Obstacles I’ll just devour.”

Or she might say, “The effect
That sexy shoes helps me project
Is worth the damage to my feet;
They help to make me feel complete.”

Perhaps she just enjoys the glances,
Loves the way the heel enhances
Curvy legs with muscles taut;
Such allure cannot be bought.

As a child, I’d oft parade
Throughout the house, in my charade
Of glamour queen in my mom’s heels;
The memory’s real, but it reveals

That something didn’t turn out right.
Perhaps I couldn’t take the height,
Or else I couldn’t act the flirt;
My female wiles did not assert.

‘Cause somehow, though I grew up fine,
High heels were not in the design.
I didn’t learn to strut my stuff;
Plain walking suited me enough.

But never mind, whate’er the cause,
I guess it’s there among my flaws;
My heel aversion, I profess,
Does not deserve this full-court press.

I mention it because I muse –
Is this an option I did choose?
Was I just born with this ingrained,
Or were my high heel dreams restrained?

Whichever reasons you assign
To understand this quirk of mine,
Don’t try to change me – no chitchats;
I’m very happy wearing flats!