The Things I Carry

An identity,

A conversation,

And a heavy heart.

A vision,

A reminder,

And a dream.

I carry what creates me,

Whether it be in object or not.

I carry a love of my life,

And a reminder of him chained across my neck.

I carry an adventure,

And memories embedded around my fingers.

I carry a long story,

And the description melted onto my freckled skin.

I carry a passion,

And this hums in a soul and beats in a heart.

I carry the importance,

And it is jammed into my backpack or purse.

I carry a mask,

But my true uniqueness is not deep.

I carry a shyness trait,

But flames of red explode against it.

I carry a pressure,

But perfection is impossible.

I carry an intelligence,

And it takes up most of my life,

But when will it come to good use?

 I carry a shelter,

And it lies across my back,

But why does it determine my status?

I carry human qualities,

Just like anyone else,

But why does it affect my life?

The weight of many,

Naturally burdened by everyone

Is carried daily

I question what is lugged and heaved

Emotionally or physically

Subconsciously or consciously

I weigh a ton,

And occasionally I have to be lifted

To relieve that extensive excess

Whether it is needed or not

I am human,

And I carry what is humanly possible.