These legs weren’t made for photographs

These legs weren’t made for photographs.

They carry maps in purple and yellow, edges of tables, missed steps, one more mile than planned.

They’ve bent for groceries,

for toys left on the floor, for the quiet, daily weight of living.

They are not smooth, not still, not made for display.

But they know dirt.

They know distance.

They know how to keep going

when the trail turns uneven.

I’ll take this—

every mark earned—

over legs that never had to try.

-Me (2026)