I carry loneliness,
I carry heartbreak,
I carry love,
I carry aspirations,
I carry dreams,
I carry disappoints.
I carry sadness,
I carry a book bag,
I carry pens,
I carry my mind,
I carry secrets,
I carry opinions.
I carry a cell phone,
I carry a bearing heart,
I carry a body.
The one that lugs
all these emotions
around like a sack of potatoes,
dragging it each day,
farther and farther.
Seeing homeland,
but never realizing I'm just walking
in place.
My body knows.
My mind knows.
But not me.
I carry oblivion,
I carry little information.
Relevant or not,
who really knows?
I carry an old soul,
someone who has seen
things beyond anything
I could ever could.
I carry hope.
I carry optimism.
And, of course,
I carry occasional pessimism.
I carry tired eyes,
I carry sore legs,
I carry an adolescent inside,
waiting to escape
into what could be
my future.
I carry judgements,
I carry sins.
I carry memories;
ones I wish to repeat forever,
and ones I wish would
simply disappear.
I carry life.
I carry an existence.
I carry an eminent career,
one I hold feebly
within my clutch.
I carry ideas.
I carry fears.
I carry stories;
some of my own,
but some belonging to others.
Ones that others
told me out of trust,
ones that others told
me for money.
Ones that were dreamt of,
or began with a pen
and a napkin.
I carry insecurities.
I carry music.
I carry a voice.
I carry me.
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Note: This was a prompt in English, and I figured I could turn it into somewhat of a poem. It's kind of repetitive, I apologize.
