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Adidas are too Comfortable


Adidas are too Comfortable

Sophie Rabb

I wanted my butt to beg for softer cushions on all these bus rides. 
I wanted to hiss at all these slimy men as they pointed at their lips, asking me to smile when I walk by. 
I wanted to wear this outfit for the ninth time in a row, without going through a single wash. 
I asked to wake up with itchy skin, to run down the stairs and yell at the receptionist for all the nocturnal rice-sized critters sleeping under my bed.
I asked to get stuck in the rain when we had no place to stay and the train station was closed during the sleepiest hours of the day.
I asked for these painfully quiet walks with my autistic little brother in all of these city parks; we can’t afford anything else.

I fear one day I’ll wake up, stuck to my bed, married to thoughts I met twenty years before. 
I am scared that if I stop carrying my feet forward, no matter how much they hurt, they will become so heavy I cannot march against all these ugly societal storms. 

Sometimes, I pick up the pace of my movement and I start to run. And I don’t mean jogging in Nike sweatpants around Central Park. I mean, breaking further away from my parents’ roots. I mean, sprinting with a sprain in my ankle even if it gets infected. I mean, sprouting out of the pond I was born in, trying not to be picked up and carried away to another one. 

This past year, my parents got me Adidas sneakers for Christmas. They look so clean and so comfortable, but I cannot wear them.
— Sophie Rabb