SKATED

Dusted and broke, under the bed they lay.

Years untouched, but every scratch had a story to play.

Bled more then once, scuffed up more then twice.

Master those skates, or die trying at that fight.

Upgrades made, new styles to try,

but the firsts were always the ones to come back to every time.

Total wipeouts, frustrated cries,

yet in it all there was a feeling of freedom with no surmise.

Felt every thick wind, every drop of rain,

every grain of dust that would come my way.

Faster then runners, felt so far.

laughter brought from nothing, anything else was subpar.

Yes, if those skates could speak, they'd have alot to say.

They were the first to take me on those adventures,

inspired stories I write to this day.