The Speaking Sole

What’s funny is I come from a box

Worn for style in the street but really made for jump shots

Sneaker heads collect me and do it in lots

Used to hold money stash guns and hide pot

1-29 I’ve been around close to 3 decades

Outside the box I live on the ground but my logo I can’t escape

Next to posters of Derek Jeter or D-Wade

Over me America has had a high crime rate

It’s a sham how a man dunking on a sole can define one’s fate

I debuted in ’84, when I first hit the store

Delighted kids skipped school and to my boxes they explored

Made no noise in ’85 but in ’86 help Mike score 63 points on Larry Birds home floor

After the second season fans prayed Phil help Tinker make more

Made in Oregon, born in Chicago then I possessed all of the USA

From Spike Lee flicks and commercials and after rehearsals

On Mike’s feet with games to play

I’ve represented AAU teams and gangs in LA

Style wise I go great with your designer shirt and favorite team’s snapback

I’m probably a log on most of your backpacks

Each year Nike designs a new classic

Laney 5’s, Playoff 8’s, Bred 11’s or your favorite college teams jacket

You stick your smelly feet past my tongue to boost your confidence

But when you’re out in public your clueless brain losses it’s common sense

During the 90’s I’ve been involved with gun shots and bloody bodies

All because my style is what they’re trying to copy

Made for basketball, but I started a culture fashion tide

How can I do that? I’m a man dunking and a 23 on my side

Most of the time

Most can’t afford me so the rob and steal

Making deals with weapons, and forcing my former owner’s not to squeal

Leaves a lot of inner city kids holding glocks and grudges

With more global and local news of death rates to publish

You would think Mike and Phil would lower prices but they do nothing

Except raise prices on their own budget

Throughout the drama I try to find peace

Violence I try to escape but with the stress by the year the more I crease

At times I feel suicidal but theirs no death to reach

Climbing closer to my peak like a ball player’s knee

Daily conflict somewhere, I’m convinced theirs no peace

But theirs pieces falling off me like leaves on an old tree

Just to show off instead of letting your game speak

Nike didn’t create me to be the cause that murder’s kids

I’m sure of this but Nike certainly is-NOT

They only care about creating dope patterns on an expensive shoe

That make’s kids foam posit(e) when they see the box

That’s the only place I feel safe

That claustrophobic place

When memories erase, what I embrace

Until I’m hated, traded, stolen hidden, sold thrown out, played in, killed for or given away

If I could speak I’d tell everyone to stop it

Fighting over my sold sole is just nonsense, while Nike gains profits

Made for everyone but it’s not equality

But the way I’m living now isn’t for me

I’m sorry Mr.23

This poem is about: 
My community
My country
Our world

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