High heels tapping against the ground,
My feeble mind dissects an explanation.
Repulsed, the ground pushes back,
Terrified of the redundant pencil-like piece of plastic
Reaching out from the bottom of what could be flats.

“Confidence!” the set of twins are proclaiming;
“Stand tall child,”
“Don't be knocked down child,”
“Everyone is smaller than you child,”
My back bickers at my posture to correct itself.

My back can yell at my posture but I feel disconnected from the feelings of my feet.
It's the pungent taste of freshly printed money lingering in the air.
Its sweat crawling back into my pores noticing the lack of stress.
It's the sound of my peers disappearing into my past, once my present.
Its my confidence not caring about the pain radiating through my heels.

Why do I subject myself to this torture?
The unreasonable set of mini back stilts burdening my ankles,
Sending messages to my internal whatever to create blisters
Crawling from the souls of my feet to the brace of my ankle,
Creating soreness crawling from my ankle to my back to the support of my neck.

In the end pain means nothing
Knowing I got the job,
they gave me the award,
confidence has taken control.
I have broken through judgement,
exceeding expectations and excelling in everything
In the end my heels are only an accessory.